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endless-ineffabilities · 2 months

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chemical override (5)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the support for this fic has been amazing, so trust me when I say that I take no pleasure in all the angst and heartache that follows (or do I?) I'm sorry, readers. I'm sorry, Ewan. We'll sort this out somehow - all my love, Freyja <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

A beginning. A first date. Whispers, sightings abound. Falling in love. A necessary lie. Hearts breaking. An end.

Ewan stands in a studio backlot in LA, bouquet of flowers clasped in one hand while the other is nervously stuffed in his tracksuit pocket.

He's itching for a smoke, but he stops himself from doing so, in some lovesick attempt to keep himself as clean and nice-smelling as possible when he sees you again. He already mentally kicked himself for not dressing better, clad in his staple Adidas blacks. But he couldn't wait any longer.

His flight from New York to LA hadn't been the most pleasant. His mind raced for hours, the thought of you being his only consolation. His meeting did not go well.

But enough of it. There is you, here, now.

In this moment, you are all that matters.

The first couple of workers make their way out the studio doors, chatting enthusiastically despite their tired faces. Ewan shuffles on his feet, keeping an eye out for you. Soon enough, your assistant Clara exits, and he waves in an attempt to get her attention.

"Ewan!" she greets brightly. "She'll be out in a while. Are those flowers?" A blush materialises on her face, and she looks so excited Ewan awkwardly thinks she would take them for herself.

"Yeah, do you think she'll like them?" he asks, giving the bouquet a once-over. The classic dozen long-stemmed red roses, kept together with black-dyed muslin wrap.

"She'll love them!" As if perfectly timed, the doors open again, and they spot you walking out with several of your co-stars. Clara smiles to herself as she walks away to give you two some space.

When your eyes land on him, it's like everything falls into place, the ear-splitting smile you give him enough to quell any worries he might have. You meet each other halfway, melding together in an embrace so tight he nearly drops the flowers to the ground.

"Look who it is," you say, still wrapped in his arms, "the internet's babygirl."

"Just your baby, darling." He pulls apart, but only just enough to look at you. "I missed you."

"Mmm, I can see that."

You're about to comment on the flowers, but he can't hold back any longer.

And so your first proper kiss happens behind an LA studio, adjacent to the parking lot and surrounded by prying eyes. The burnt orange haze of the sunset peers from the horizon, casting a glow on the scene. And it's perfect. His lips are gentle as they dance with yours, his warm breath fanning your face when he breaks apart for mere milliseconds, only to resume the kiss as if he can never get enough.

A moment later, there's a couple of woohoos from a distance, your costars oooing and aahing at the sight, making you giggle against Ewan's lips.

"Shall we, then, darling?" Ewan asks.

"Shall we?" Your brows raise, mirroring his question.

"Our first date." He takes a step back, but only to ceremoniously hold his hand out for you to take. "Will you do me the honour?"

"Why, good sir, are we going on a regular date or some super fancy ball?" you laugh, lacing your fingers with his anyway.

He only smiles, planting yet another kiss on the corner of your mouth. "God, I missed you."

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You can't help but cast glances at him every now and then. Ewan, effortlessly cool as he drives the both of you across LA, with one veiny hand gripping the steering wheel while the other envelops yours on your lap.

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, and you're thankful for it; you need the comfort because you're growing nervous. A first date.

A first date! And not just with anyone.

"What is it?" he smirks, his eyes finding yours as the car idles at an intersection. There's a smugness there. He caught you staring.

You avert your gaze, a pleasant wave of heat rising to your face.

"Hmm?" he leans across, pecking your cheek and resting his forehead against your hair, eager to get a rise out of you. "I mean, I've been told I'm handsome, darling. You already know, something of a babygirl. But it's even more special that you think so."

The light turns green. You grab his jaw, and lightly push him away, raising your eyebrows. "Careful, baby," you smile knowingly. "Your Aemond is showing."

"Oh, yeah?" The car revs up again, rows of palm trees speeding past in a blur. "Does that - uhh - turn you on?"

Your head snaps to him at his bold insinuation. He gives off an unaffected air, smirking to himself in an undeniably hot what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it way. But you make him nervous too. He swallows, and clears his throat, anticipating your response.

"Maybe," you bite your lip, squeezing his hand harder, "but you don't need to put on your Aemond to turn me on."

"Just me, then?" he chuckles lowly, feeling lighter.

"Yup," you shrug. "But if you ever wanna put on a blonde wig and an eyepatch, I won't stop you."

"For when, darling?" Oh he knows what you meant. It's been a constant on his mind too. He's lost count of the nights when thoughts of you consume him, and what happy news it is that you might have been going through the same.

"Mmm... " You look out the window innocently, but you guide his hand higher up on your thigh, allowing his fingers to splay open and squeeze at the flesh covered only by the material of your jeans.

A minute passes. Driving past a street of exclusively only mansions and expensive cars. Then downtown, low-rise buildings as far as the eye can see. Another minute, slow and steady.

Then he says, "You're going to fucking drive me insane, baby."

A soft sigh escapes your lips. "Well, you started it."

He sneers, accompanied by a humourless shake of his head. "I think you overestimate my self-control." The air is thick, but it's quickly diffused when he pulls into a clearing. You realise you're out of the main road, the car slowly coming to a halt in an empty lot beside a low brick building.

"We're here, darling," he says, but he gives you a look that clearly means this matter isn't over. You have something of his, and he's going to claim it.

He half-jogs over to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his.

"Where are we?" The building is nondescript, with a plain white facade, a small cafe and a laundromat on street level, both of which happen to be closed.

"Had to call in a favour from an old mate of mine. His family moved here from Derby a couple of years ago, and they own that laundromat over there," he explains, leading you inside through a door in the side alley.

You're met with a narrow flight of stairs and he gestures for you to go ahead. "What have you got up your sleeve, Mitchell?" you ask, excitement taking root as you climb up to the very top.

It only takes three floors before you reach the heavy steel door of the roof deck. He shuffles to your side, one hand on your back to keep you steady, and pushes the door open which relents with a loud squeak.

You're met with something you have only seen before on Pinterest boards - the rooftop is softly aglow from hanging string lights. In the far side, a screen projector is set up, and in front of it is a low plush sofa cocooned amidst throw blankets and cushions. There's a wooden tray on one on the blankets, containing treats of all sorts and a bottle of wine glistening in its ice bucket.

You take in the magical ambience of the scene with widened eyes. The haze of faint LA sunlight only serves to make everything more beautiful, though it seems hardly necessary.

"Do you like it, darling?" he asks and what a ludicrous question it is. Do you like it?

He continues, "I admit I didn't have to lot of time to set it up, and I had a bit of help but - mmmpph - "

You lace your hands around his neck, silencing him with a searing kiss. He moans unto you, his tongue dipping past your lips as he nearly relinquishes control. He could forget about the set up, the date he had planned, and just take you here on the rooftop. Would you let him?

"I take it that everything is to your liking?" he purrs, watching you in adoration as your head swivels on its own accord to canvas the scene yet again.

You spot something in the corner - a bouquet of fresh flowers surrounded by some lightweight paper lanterns.

"Oh no!" you moan. "The flowers you gave me... I left them in the car!"

He laughs fondly at the sheer panic on your face. "Don't worry about them, my love. I've got more flowers for you here." He points to the bouquet you just saw.

"But those ones... won't they wilt or something? I don't want them to go to waste."

His heart swells at your genuine concern. The furrow between your brows, the way you chew on your lip in worry, your fingers absentmindedly clutching his wrist - it all makes him fall even harder.

"They'll be fine, darling."

"Are you sure?"

He nods once, pulling you in, "Mhmm, just... come here, please." Another kiss, gentler this time.

This is bliss, he thinks, sweet solace after his days in New York, days he aims on forgetting from now on.

You eventually find yourselves on the velvet seat, the tray of food nestled on your laps. He pours wine into the paper cups as you reach for a chocolate-covered strawberry and bring it to his lips.

"Thanks, love," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Oh, baby, you've got chocolate on there," you motion to his bottom lip.

He sets the cups of wine on the tray, making a move to wipe it off, but just as his fingers hover, his mind takes on an alternative action.

"You do it, then," he leans close, tilting his jaw.

"Okay." With a smile, you begin to oblige him, but you halt when he playfully says, "Not with your hands, darling."

You feel your heart race at his teasing, and at the way he stares at you with blatant desire. Never mind the fact that you were just making out moments ago. The rush of being with him has not subsided. Maybe it never will.

You kiss him, paying mind to the smudge on his lip, licking your own lips afterward to savour the taste.

You pull back slightly. "All better," you say, patting his cheek lovingly.

"Hmm," he hums, "I suppose I'll just have to make a mess of myself more often."

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Nightfall had already descended when the credits to The Princess Bride start rolling, dotting the sky with twinkling stars.

Ewan has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, before he declares, "If they ever do a remake to this film, I'll only take the role if you would be my Buttercup."

"As you wish," you smile, nuzzling closer against his black hoodie. "I remember watching this when I was a kid. Believe it or not, it was one of the films that inspired me to get into acting."

"Did you wanna be Buttercup, my Buttercup?"

"No," you respond. "I wanted to do what Inigo Montoya was doing. He's so insanely cool."

"Of course you did," he says affectionately, "my darling."

"What about you, hmm? Did you always want to be an actor?" you ask. You might have read an interview of his where he explains something to that effect, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"As far as I can remember, yes. It was always going to be acting for me. Even when everyone laughed it off when I brought it up in primary school." He shakes his head, the once bitter memory reduced to an anecdote. "I... I find purpose in what we do, being able to slip inside different skins, different lives. It allows me to explore the human psyche, you know, and to make sense of all this madness."

You listen intently, in awe at his words and his sheer sincerity. The world is made better with Ewan able to live his passions. And you feel fortunate that his life is one he may be willing to share with you, if everything goes well down the line.

"I almost forgot - you have to tell me about how your big meeting went."

He shifts slightly, eyes darting downward as he pouts on instinct. He realises he can no longer keep the subject under wraps.

You sense his reluctance, and immediately try to soften your approach. It could have gone either way, and though rejection is part of an actor's bread and butter - you certainly would know - there are some instances where you just let it get to you.

"Is this producer as scary as they say?" you ask lightly, poking his chest.

He smiles, but his expression is still clouded. "You know those mafia dons in Scorcese's movies? This guy practically inspired them, I'd say."

"Goodness."

"He did try to give off a welcoming air, but there was still something... sinister underneath."

"I suppose when anyone is afforded this much power..."

"Especially in this industry..."

"Mhmm." Face half-burrowed in the soft material of his hoodie, you tilt your head up at him. "So it was a bust, huh?"

He shrugs, "The role just wasn't for me. It's all for the best, I reckon."

You hold his hand tight, eager to soothe any worries he might have. "That's a shame. They would have been damn lucky to have you."

He smiles, flattered by your comment. "I am lucky to just be here with you, darling."

You smile in return, tilting your lips to his, coaxing him to lean in close and seal the kiss.

And he does.

And this is the most perfect first date there ever was or ever will be.

"Darling?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I've fallen in love with you."

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The next few weeks pass blissfully slowly, you and Ewan caught in the euphoria that only a fresh relationship can bring.

Rehearsals for your upcoming movie had ended, and you get a month off before filming begins in Atlanta. Ewan also stays in LA, keen on spending every waking minute with you. His team takes advantage of the situation, booking him for several interviews and a feature with Esquire. You were more than happy to accompany him - or rather, distract him - on these occasions.

Once, the team even jokes that you had to stay in the other room because Ewan keeps looking over at you behind the camera and forgetting what to say. Ewan, of course, quickly protests. "My girl stays with me," he confidently says.

It doesn't take long for news to spread. Rumours, at first. Allegations bred from blurry fan photos and supposed encounters with yourself and Ewan while out in LA.

They were holding hands!

They're not just friends, I swear. He was kissing her the whole time in the restaurant!

What about her and Jacob? I thought they'd been dating all this time?

House of the Dragon stars spotted on a date in Hollywood!

Headlines. Gossip fodder. Statements made by people who claim to have seen you.

Sure, you do meet some of the sweetest and friendliest fans during all this, who only gush at the sight of their favourite actors getting together.

There are others, especially online, who are less pleasant, accusing you of cheating on your supposed lover Jacob Elordi.

Jacob, already used to rolling with the punches, gives you a call so the two of you can laugh it off together.

"I'm happy for you, mate," he expresses, voice muffled from the other line. "You and Ewan... you guys just make sense. Do you remember that night when he stormed in all jealous like? Holy shit..."

As if on cue, Ewan shifts underneath the sheets from behind you, peppering your naked back with soft kisses. "Tell him I said hi," he whispers, his tone doing nothing to mask his possessiveness.

And so the days roll on, and it couldn't be more perfect.

That is, until the first cracks started to show. As they always do.

You're in a meeting with your publicist Mallory, at one of the many quaint hipster cafés in LA, discussing your upcoming filming schedule and the other things you have booked in between.

"You've got a busy few months ahead, but the film is of course top priority," she says. "It's slated to be the top rom-com of next year."

"That's great, Mal."

"I mean, I think you know that Ewan was meant to lead that romance-fantasy franchise? That's a big deal, and people are saying it'll be bigger than Twilight!" she gestures wildly with her hands. "But since he had a falling out with Bruce Haversham - and trust me, if he ever sets up a meeting with you, you do not want to go against him - what was I saying? Oh yeah, the release for that will be delayed so your film will get prime spot for a summer premiere."

You grow apprehensive at her words. Ewan never got into detail about that meeting, and you didn't really want to pry. But if that producer's reputation is indeed accurate, it doesn't bode well for Ewan's career that he might have done anything that displeased him.

With a sickening dread, you realise that Haversham might have something to do with Ewan failing to book the two films he went for in the past month. Despite the fact that the local casting director practically raved about his audition, and stated that he pretty much had both of the roles in the bag.

"Mal, you know Donna right? Ewan's publicist?" you ask, knowing that she and Donna are under the same agency. "Does she talk to you about Ewan at all? About what went down in New York?"

"A little, honey, yes," she admits. "But about that meeting, I thought you would know. He didn't tell you?"

"Not in too many words, no. Just that it didn't work out, and that the film wasn't meant for him."

"Oh, I see," she smiles, almost ruefully, like she feels sorry for you. That look compels you to ask, "What do you know, Mal? Tell me."

Her hand reaches and clutches yours atop the table. "From what I heard, he refused the role because of you."

"What?"

"It's rare with young actors like you guys, to be so devoted so early on."

Growing impatient, you say, "Mal, please, what are you saying?"

"Look, I don't know the details of it. But apparently Haversham wanted him to get into a PR stint with his love interest for the film, and to hide whatever real relationship he has going on with you. This ordeal was going to be more restrictive than the arrangement you have with Jacob, which is more or less over at this point."

"I didn't know that," you whisper hoarsely.

"Honey, don't worry about it," she consoles you, taking a sip of her coffee. "Like I said, I don't know much. I can get you in touch with Donna if you want to speak with her? I'm 100% positive it's not all bad. There's one thing we can be sure of, at least!"

You look at her expectantly, unable to formulate a guess.

"That boy loves you!"

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With only a few days left before filming, you had begun to make the final preparations before moving to Atlanta.

It's a late night, one laden with anxiety and nervous jitters, and the several shots of whiskey you had just taken do little to keep the walls from closing in.

Although, perhaps, it is better if they do. If they imprison you, even just for tonight, to keep you from whatever it is you plan to do.

It's for the best. I have to do this. I'm doing this for him, you keep telling yourself. You keep repeating the lies, letting them bounce relentlessly in the walls of your mind, until you fool yourself into thinking them to be true.

You had met with Donna a few days prior, and the whole situation was made clear to you. You didn't know for certain when the decision formed in your mind, but it's there, as real as the love you feel for Ewan.

The love you will have to bury.

He picks you up in his rental Rover, after you told him that you wanted to go for a drive. But you ask him to park his car behind the private apartment building where you're staying.

The car grinds to a halt, like a signal for you to get it over with. There is no going back now.

"Ewan... I - " You can't push the words out, more so when he reaches for your hands and squeezes. He looks at you with those eyes, expecting anything but what you're about to say.

"I'm sorry," you try again, and your voice breaks. His face slowly drops, the mood instantly changed, but the worse is yet to come.

"What are you sorry for, darling?" He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, the sensation willing you to just abandon your plan completely. To abandon the lie.

"Whatever happens..." Just get it over with. "...I want you to know that I'll always be here for you. We are friends first, aren't we?" Peel the bandaid. Rip it off. Let it bleed.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he says.

You sound robotic, emotionless. But one wrong turn and the floodgates may break. There's a lump in your throat and you push it down. Reminding yourself to act - use your fucking acting skills if you actually have any. Now's the time. "We can't be together, Ewan."

There it is, sounding itself into existence, ruining the love you have in front of you.

His hand drops, as if he recoils back into himself. Away from you. It's cruel, but you know you will have to do more damage. You have to make it stick. This becomes clear when he says, "No", with conviction. "No, darling," he repeats. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ewan - "

"You're not being funny, darling." He tilts his head, testing you, giving you the chance to retract your words and start laughing at your twisted joke. Darling comes out a mockery, something to say out of spite.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back in the driver's seat. "I don't... I don't accept this." He looks straight ahead, his lips pursed and jaw taut. "Fucking... why ?"

"I just... don't think it's going to work out."

"Bullshit."

Your words come out rushed, "You should take that role. I don't want you to hold back just for me. This could be something really great for you, Ewan. This could be it! Most actors pray for an opportunity like that to come along and I wouldn't want you to - "

"That's the reason?"

" - refuse it because of me. So we should - "

"Stop."

" - end this."

Silence. Not a single sound in the near-empty parking lot. No sirens in the distance, no pedestrian chatter. Just slow, heavy breathing in this rental car, both of you looking out the windshield. It feels stuffy all of a sudden, and not in the heated way when your limbs entwined in a jumble in the backseat a mere week ago.

"Please. I... I don't want to end this," he pleads. His knuckles are bone white, harshly gripping both sides of the steering wheel in an attempt to anchor himself. He shakes his head, and with some sense of hope, he says, "I don't care about that role. Okay? It's not the end of the world if I don't accept it. Have some faith in me, darling. I'll make it work. Surely there are plenty of other things down the line."

"Ewan," you whisper. You knew he would say this, which is why you prepared something worse. If that were even possible. You suck on your teeth, pulling on whatever poison you keep hidden away. You sigh and look away, a gesture that lets him know nothing will change your mind. "This fucking PR relationship business... it gets to you, you know? We don't know any better. I for one never expected to feel this way about - "

"About?" he finally turns to shoot you a look of betrayal, the pain in his eyes clear as day.

"I might have feelings for Jacob," you lie, "or I might not, I don't know. But there's something there, and I... I can't let this - us - go on while I'm conflicted about everything. It wouldn't be right."

Nothing about this is right.

But you go on, "I'll be off filming, with him, for a couple of months. And it's only going to make everything more confusing, and it wouldn't be fair to you, I know that - "

"I love you."

It's the first time he ever utters those three words, completely and without any doubt. He says them, despite everything you said before. And he means it.

A tear falls down your cheek, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the rest at bay.

"I'm sorry," you look at him, in finality, and you want nothing more than to passionately kiss him hard on the mouth, to hold on to him tight and plead for him not to let you go. With your quivering form, you amble out of the car. Every step worsens the weight of what just transpired. His side of the car opens, and he calls for you, but you can't bear to look back.

He catches up to you, breathless and with a wild look in his face. His blue eyes swell with tears, but his brows are scrunched down as if he isn't bothered by them.

"I want you to look me right in the eye and tell me we don't matter. I want you to tell me you don't love me," he says, and it's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. He searches your eyes for something, anything to hold on to. Part of him is still desperate enough to grasp at straws, on the hope that you will change your mind.

But the other hardened part, has become angry. Indignant. Because how could you do this to him? The only girl he has ever loved. So he needs to hear it from you, clearly. He needs you to drive the final nail on the coffin.

"I do love you," you croak, and you do nothing to stop your tears from flowing freely.

"Darling..."

"But I can't be with you," you turn away, one last time. "Goodbye, Ewan."

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Some time ago, during the meeting in New York...

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden furniture, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot...

(to be continued)

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Update! Read the second bonus chapter here ~

💌 next chapter

HOW DARE YOU, reader. How dare you.

The gif above paints a clear picture of Ewan's heart breaking in the car 🥲 just in case you guys needed a visual aid 🥲🥲

Next chapter - the meeting in New York, the reader's conversation with Donna, and.... we see them move on from each other (?) You know these bloody actors, one relationship in the first half of the year and then another right after...

Feel free to come for me in the comments <3 it was the most heartfelt chapter, after all. Also, let me know what yous want the bonus chapter to be about!

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #chemical override

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it.

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add.

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it.

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic.

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob.

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself.

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse.

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride.

If only it was that easy to fool himself.

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest.

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it.

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings.

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t.

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation.

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party.

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere.

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here.

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence.

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation.

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him.

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt.

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back.

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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deadlynavigation · 6 months

Text

Pretty & Pink

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: request from @cecebabs !! school has been kicking my ass lately so just bear with me yall 🥲

Navigation

**gif is not meant to be a representation of what reader looks like**

Opposites attract—or at least, that’s what they said. Wednesday had never put any stock into the saying until he met you.

You were a bright little thing, full of happiness and hope and all the other disgusting emotions. But Wednesday endured, because at the end of the day, you held his heart in your manicured hand.

Every once in a while, though, he’ll question what he’s doing. Like tonight, for instance. It had been a long day. The errands that had been piling up over the week were finally accomplished a few hours ago, and it was exhausting. So exhausting that all he wanted to do was collapse in the nearest bed, no matter the owner or location. And since you didn’t want your partner to end up in some alleyway mattress, you dragged him over to your apartment, where he was currently camped out on your bed.

“You doing okay in there, sweetie?” You call to him from your bathroom, hands dripping with water as you rinse your cleanser off.

“Yes, my love. Are you done yet?” Wednesday calls back. He knows his question is in vain, though. Your skincare routine is a long ordeal, and you’ve only just started.

He hears your soft laughter float through the air. “I’ll be right out.” You respond, picking up a serum.

Wednesday decides he can’t wait, heading into the bathroom and settling behind where you stand. You greet him with a smile, picking up the next step of your routine to show to him.

“It’s a new moisturizer I got today,” You explain. “It’s supposed to be good for dry skin, and with all the nasty weather lately…”

Wednesday doesn’t hear the rest of your rant, focusing instead on those pretty eyes of yours. Oh, how he longs to drown in them. To sink into their depths, seeing the world from your hopeful view. Unpacking all your thoughts, understanding and empathizing.

Listen to him. He’s practically a puddle of mush. What have you done to him?

“...Wednesday, baby?” You tilt your head as Wednesday snaps back into reality. “Were you even listening?”

He takes one more second to stare at you before sheepishly shaking his head. “Deepest apologies, cara mia. There are simply too many pretty parts to you, I cannot focus on every one of them at once.”

You giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Maybe I should turn away, then. Stop distracting you with my wiles.”

Wednesday smirks. “Turning away from me would entice me even more, Y/n. You really want to play that game?”

“Oh my god. Ok, I’m not facing you anymore. You’ve lost that privilege.” Your cheeks are on fire now, and if you maintain eye contact any longer, you’re worried you might burst into flames. True to your word, you pivot to face the mirror. Then, using your arms, you hop up onto the counter, climbing into the sink for an optimal view.

Wednesday nearly has a heart attack as you jump. His hands fall into place, ready to catch you or save your head from a nasty bang should your acrobatics go wrong, but once you’re in place, he sighs loudly.

“Must you do that, my love?” His seriousness is ruined by a smile creeping onto his face.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. This moisturizer requires my full attention.” It’s hard tamping down your own smile, but the teasing seems to be worth it as Wednesday’s stare darkens.

“The moisturizer gets your attention, hm? That’s a dangerous game, cara mia.”

You don’t respond, instead dipping your finger into the container and dotting it on your cheeks.

“Come down from that sink so we can see who really has your attention right now.” Wednesday taunts you. After a couple seconds, you give in, closing up the product and carefully setting it down before jumping back down onto the floor. Within seconds, Wednesday takes a step and sits on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing your hands and gently tugging you along at the same time. Before you know it, you’re sat on his lap, a smirk on his face and a shocked look on yours.

“Attention still on skincare, love?” Wednesday teases.

You give up on the facade. “No,” You breathe, leaning in. “But what if I share my attention with it?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow as you get up, reaching into the bottom drawer of the counter and coming back to him with a small package. You sit back down, ripping it open and tossing the top in the trash.

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

“Is that one of those grotesque concoctions that spreads all over your face? The one that looks like a death mask?” Wednesday questions, but you’re already reaching into the package.

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

“...Sure.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, and Wednesday is set up on your bed with no intention of moving. A green substance covers the majority of his face, making him question why he doesn’t let you do this more often. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, settled in amongst your many pink throw pillows and cherry blossom sheets. You’re settled in too, resting your head on his chest while trying to sync your breaths with the steady thumps of his heart. Your manicured fingers etch random shapes into his skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle and adding a heart or two every so often.

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

‘Wanna start a movie?” Wednesday asks, looking down at your comfy self with adoration.

You look up, meeting his eyes with the same love. “Can I choose?”

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

An hour later, and Wednesday is ready to commit homicide. Of all the movies you could have picked, you went with Mean Girls. Your defense? “It’s the feminist movement at its finest, Wednesday.”

“It’s… very pink.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part! All the decorations and outfits are amazing. They were actually part of what inspired this room’s decor.”

Wednesday looks around at the brightly colored walls, the pastel curtains, the cute pillows, and even the pink pens scattered across your desk. “I never would’ve guessed, my love.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Wednesday chuckles. “Yes, very.” He agrees sarcastically. You don’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to lay back down on his chest and go back to watching the movie. You don’t get to stay there for very long, though, because a minute later, the timer on your phone goes off.

“Mkay. Time to take this off, babe.” You poke his face mask. Wednesday rises without complaint, heading to the bathroom while you grab some water and a cloth. Internally, though, he’s begging you not to. It feels so nice, and having you apply it was one of the best feelings in the world.

As you start working through the layers of the mask with water and a gentle hand, though, Wednesday revises his thoughts—never mind the application. This was the best feeling in the world.

As you work, Wednesday leans into your hands. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for your whispered promises of comfy beds and pillows and cuddles.

*****

The next morning, Wednesday gets up much earlier than usual. The sun is just barely up, peeking through your pastel curtains and coating the bed in a buttery yellow. You’re burrowed into his arms, tucked safely into his chest with the messy blankets surrounding you. He takes a minute to absorb your cuteness, smiling down at you as he slowly wakes up.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He whispers, not yet wanting to wake you. You’ve reminded him time and time again that the blinking digits on the clock right now are not digits you ever want to be awake to see, and he’s taken that to heart. But he still has to kill time until you wake–maybe a run? He could drop by the gym just down the street that he really likes. Or maybe a chore? The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded.

But those all sound like too much work for this early in the day, so Wednesday settles on just getting you a coffee. A nice five-minute walk and your drowsy smile to greet him when he gets back. Perfect.

Within minutes, Wednesday is up and out. He strolls down the street, taking his time to enjoy the soft sunlight. That’s new, he suddenly realizes–and probably your doing, as well. You’re a fan of tilting your face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, and claiming the rays cheer you up. Maybe you’ve passed that onto him.

A couple more minutes tick by, and Wednesday reaches your regular coffee shop. He enters the place with a little jingle as the door opens, and is immediately greeted with the scent of dark coffee and light chatter.

“What can I get for you this morning, sir?” A too-happy employee asks him as he walks up to the counter.

Damn, what was that drink you really liked? Something with pink in it, he’s sure of it.

“Just two medium coffees, one black and one with that pink flavor, please.” Manners with normies–that’s another thing you’ve unknowingly reinforced with him.

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

“Yes, that’s it. Thanks.” Wednesday pulls out his card, handing it to the guy.

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

“We’ll have those coffees right out for you, sir.”

“Brilliant.” With that, Wednesday finds an isolated corner to haunt until his name is called, quickly grabbing the coffees and exiting the building. It’s an even quicker walk back with the warm drinks providing some heat on this chilly morning.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Wednesday manages to buzz into the building, climb the stairs to your apartment, and work the keys until your door clicks open, all with his hands full. He’s greeted with the sight of you half-asleep on the couch, the news playing softly in the background.

“What are you doing up, love?” He questions, setting the coffees down on the coffee table and kneeling on the floor.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumble, grabbing for his hand and interlocking it with yours. “Was cold in the bed without you.”

Wednesday practically melts. How can one girl be so sweet and caring? So happy?

“I’m sorry, my love. But look, I got you that coffee you like to make up for it.” He gestures to the beverages with his free hand before resting it on your head. He goes about stroking your hair, lulling you back into a dreamlike state.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall back asleep,” you bat at his hand, trying to get it out of your hair. You were up to see him, not to fall asleep on him.

“And I will still be here when you wake up, cara mia. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here. I love you.”

#wednesday addams #male!wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader #male wednesday addams x reader #male!wednesday addams #the addams family #male!wednesday #the addams family x you #requests open #requests

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fairysluna · 9 months

Text

INVISIBLE STRING | Chapter 4: you must like me for me.

New Girl!AU — A disastrous break up led you to them; three guys living in a huge apartment and in need of a new roommate who helped with the way too expensive rent.

MASTERLISTㅤ | ㅤSERIES MASTERLISTㅤ | ㅤPHOTO CREDIT

PAIRING - Modern!Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY - the unexpected presence of Aegon in your room brings the so desired moment of him finally seeing you as a friend. However, you were never good at giving advice and it all ends in a big mess.

TW/TAGS - cursing, body dysmorphia, mentions of blood, insecurities, this might be considered as a slight chubby!aegon, make out session, mentions of nudity, slow burn, friends to lovers, things get heated but nothing happens. If something is missing pls let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE - hi everyone, do you remember this fic? lmao. i know it's been MONTHS since i posted sth for this story, but well, i finally got the inspiration to write this, so this came out. I promise to be fully dedicated to this fic bc it's time i finish this already and bc im excited for it!! now im on vacations so i guess I'll have more time so... thank you if you waited for this fic, and thank you for reading!!🤍

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

PREV CHAPTERㅤ | ㅤNEXT CHAPTER

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ english is not my first language.

When you finally entered the loft your right hand was holding three files filled with tests for you to grade while the other one was carrying your bag and the keys of your home. You quickly scanned the living room to see if someone was there in order to greet them, but it was empty and messy as usual; leftovers of pizza and a half empty bottle of Coke soda in the center table. “It must've been Aegon”, you thought.

With a sigh you walked towards your room, worrying not to drop anything from your hands and thanking the gods as you saw the door slightly open. You kicked it, accidentally hard enough to make it smack against the wall behind it, and as soon as you looked inside the room, your eyes widened in surprise and all the things that were held by your trembling arms fell around the floor.

Aegon was standing in the middle of your room, shirtless and in the middle of flexing his muscles right in front of your mirror. He noticed your presence immediately, and he ran towards his shirt that was laying on your bed and covered his naked chest with a wild expression remarkably printed on his now red face.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, breathlessly.

"This is my room!" you quickly replied, ignoring the thousands of papers that were now scattered on the floor.

"Weren't you supposed to arrive at six? It's four pm!" Aegon rapidly put his shirt back on.

"We- they let us go home earlier because it's the school's anniversary- what are you doing here?" you spoke, stammering and interrupting yourself. You were still a bit taken aback with this whole situation.

There was a slight moment of doubt in Aegon's mind that was quite evident for your observant eye; he looked away from you as his arms crossed in front of his chest to cover himself even when he was no longer exposing himself. You arched your eyebrow, silently insisting on an answer or some kind of explanation; two days ago you could have sworn he did not like you, but now seeing him standing in your room in such a condition made you overthink everything.

However, before you could think about questioning his lack of words, Aegon sighed loud enough for you to hear the embarrassment and resignation, and soon a mumble followed.

"You have a mirror," he replied.

His response did nothing but confused you even more. A frown appeared on your face, one small gesture that Aegon might have misinterpreted as an angered one if he hadn't known you enough.

"A mirror?" Aegon nodded.

"You're the only one who has one in the bedroom, and-"

"What about the bathroom?" You interrupted out of pure curiosity. "And Aemond has one too."

"Jace has been taking a shit for hours and Aemond forbade me to enter his room since what happened the last time." You were about to open your mouth to ask about it, but he was faster. "Don't ask," he warned you, and you pressed your lips together, remaining silent. "Listen, just forget this. I'm gonna leave right now, and we'll pretend this never happened. Okay?"

He started to walk towards you in order to cross the doorframe behind you. He passed right next to you, and for some unknown reason, your body decided to act before your mind could even process what was going on. Before you even noticed, your hand was wrapped around Aegon's wrist in a grip that was surprisingly strong. Aegon froze right in the spot and the first thing he did was to watch your hand, to then lift his face and lay his deep, lavender eyes on you.

Your jaw clenched, unsure of what to do since everything seemed to be happening strangely fast. The situation was confusing, and it made you act out of instinct leaving you standing there beside him, with just a few seconds left to say something before it turned into something awkward and weird.

Aegon, who would naturally and instinctively reject other people's touch, did not even attempt to push you away from him; he just waited until you removed your hand from his wrist. His reaction was quickly excused by his own mind, thinking that it was only because you took him by surprise.

"Uh…" you muttered, still trying to process what to say, "if- if there's something troubling you, you can tell me, you know? Maybe it's something I can help with."

He just shrugged, trying to make it seem unimportant.

"Not really," he said, leaving the room afterwards without saying another word.

You sighed, resigned to only be seen as his roommate and not as a friend. You tried not to think about it while you kneeled down to pick up the files and papers that fell from your hands when you entered your room, because you did not want it to let it bother you.

But, when you managed to put all your things on your desk, you turned around and saw Aegon standing in the doorway with arms crossed and a defeated look on his face, which had a slight pinkish tone that you would have found adorable in another situation.

"Actually, yes," he started, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, as if he was scared of someone else listening to the conversation. "I kinda need help with something… I- uh, well, you are a girl so you probably know about this stuff, so…"

It was a difficult task for you to hide the emotion that lightened up your face after hearing his words, finally seeing the perfect opportunity to bond with the guy that has been avoiding you for weeks.

"Of course," you replied, trying not to speak too fast. "I can help you with anything."

"Alright." He nodded, looking down at the floor as he seemed to be putting some order to his words before they left his mouth. "So, the girl you saw the other day, the girl in the bar, remember?"

"I knew you liked her!"

"Well, I just want to bang her, but that's one way to put it," Aegon shrugged after his explanation, while you pressed your lips. "The thing is that, I think she's super hot and gorgeous, and way out of my league, and-"

"Oh, Aegon, you are handsome too!" You interrupted, and he quickly started to look impatient.

"Yeah, but that's not the point," he said, exasperated. "The thing is, the last time that I had sex, the girl I was fucking- uh… well, she said something about my body that really took me off."

"What did she say?" You curiously asked.

"She kinda made fun of it," he replied quickly, as if he was embarrassed.

Your eyes softened immediately after, and your first instinct was to touch him to give him support; however, halfway there you remembered he did not like those gestures, so your hand ended up in the air and seconds later you put it back. Aegon's breath was caught in his throat as he saw how your hand was so close to his skin.

"I'm sorry, Aegon."

"And now I can't get naked in front of this hot girl, even when I really want to!" He cleared his throat, and his tone suddenly changed, now being more angered rather than sad. "I just want to get laid, but I can't! This chick cursed me or something."

"You're not cursed," you said, trying to comfort him somehow. "Listen, you need to work on your self confidence, and-"

"And how do I do that?"

"Do what?"

"How can I work on my self confidence?"

You frowned, "I don't- I'm not sure how-"

"Oh come on!" He raised his voice with exasperation. "You're a teacher! Aren't you supposed to give guidance to your students?"

"Well, my students don't usually ask for sexual advice from their teacher so…"

"You need to help me, please," he pleaded, and you could clearly see the despair in his eyes begging you to say something useful.

You knew you could not fuck this up, not when it was probably the only chance you could have to bond with him after days trying to make him look at you as a friend. Inside of your mind you tried to remember anything that could work in this situation, all those psychology seminars you attended during your college days were coming back to your mind as you thought of an answer.

"Well, you can… try to stand naked in front of a mirror, maybe after you shower, and see the qualities of your body that you like the most."

“Would that work?”

“It might.”

“You sure?”

“Uh… Yes.”

He stood there, silently looking at the floor as he nodded. He muttered something that sounded like a ‘thanks’, and then he slowly turned around. He was visibly embarrassed, he was feeling too vulnerable to look at your face after opening up to you. Of course you immediately noticed, and, as you tried to ignore it, you found some words that you thought he might need to hear.

"Aegon," you called him, and he froze with one foot out of the room and the other inside. He turned around to look at you over his shoulder, and you sighed, "just remember that every person has his own concept of beauty, and only because someone didn't appreciate yours, it doesn't mean other girls won't… We are all beautiful under the right pair of eyes."

He clenched his jaw, gave you a small –almost unnoticeable– nod, and he left. You stood there for a few more seconds before you returned your attention to what you were supposed to be doing. The papers that now were on your desk, were waiting for you to grade them. Just the mere thought of reading through them made you sigh with exhaustion.

It was going to be a long day.

A knock on your door got you distracted enough for you to stop doing your task. The pen dropped from your hand as you turned around to find Jace with a soft smile on his face. You smiled back at him.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

“Are you too busy?” He asked, “I've brought some Chinese food to eat for dinner.”

“Let me finish revising these papers and I'll be there in a minute,” you said as he nodded.

He was about to leave, but then he returned. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he started, “the bathroom lock is broken, so you need to knock before you get in, just in case we're inside.”

“Are you guys gonna buy a new one?”

“Yes. Aemond will go tomorrow after work, we'll divide the costs afterwards,” he explained.

“Oh, alright.”

“Now, hurry or the food will get cold,” he said, and then left the room leaving the door open.

You managed to finish the paper a few minutes later, and then you went to the bathroom to wash your hands before going to eat with the rest. You did what you were told, and you knocked on the door. You waited a couple of seconds, making sure no one would reply from inside before you finally opened the door.

As soon as you opened it, you saw Aegon standing in front of the mirror and staring at himself. Naked.

“Oh, Gods!” you yelped. Your eyes involuntarily taking a quick look over him.

Damn.

“What the fuck?!” he screamed, covering his nudity with both of his hands and wildly blushing.

“Oh gods, I'm so sorry-”

“Get out!”

You acted so quickly that your legs tumbled against each other on your way out. The loud sound of the door closing behind your back echoed in the empty hall as you covered your mouth with your hand, a nervous giggle escaped from your lips before you could even try to hold it back. Your eyes were wide open, and your mind tried to process what you had just seen; Aegon fully naked.

Aemond and Jace soon appeared in the hall as they heard the screaming and the door slam. You looked at them with your breathing fast and sharp, staring at them as if you've seen a ghost. Their curiosity peaked.

“What happened?” Aemond asked, visibly worried.

“Uh- I…”

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and you started to feel a bit overwhelmed.

“I just- I need to- uh… wait for me a bit, I'll- I'll be back in a minute.”

The heat on your cheeks was impossible to ignore as you locked yourself in your room, completely ignoring their questions; you were panicking. You felt dumb, and you closed your eyes frustrated knowing that you screwed it up. You invaded his space and now he will, inevitably, put some distance with you. Now you just wanted to bury your face in the pillow out of embarrassment. How were you supposed to talk to him now that you saw him in all his glory?

And, oh gods, there was glory.

You were ashamed of what just happened; or maybe you just felt embarrassed because you couldn't help but blush at the memory of his body.

The pillow between your hands went straight to your face, muffling the groan that you let go as you fell onto your bed. Gods, you were fucked.

That very same early morning, after finishing their shift, Aegon was supposed to make his first move on the girl who had been in his mind. It was already closing time, the bar was empty at 5am and there was only him and Ceryse. She would occasionally glance at him hoping he would notice that she wore her tightest shirt for him. However, Aegon was busy trying to cheer himself up, trying to forget about that stupid chuckle of yours that still echoed in his mind, haunting him like a fucking ghost.

He had heard you, and –of course– his insecurities made him think the worst.

He was so nervous. It was almost embarrassing how sweaty his palms were; the situation was out of his control and he hated it. He was barely able to focus on his task, absentmindedly cleaning a glass with a cloth as he tried so hard to ignore her presence just to not feel so anxious. His shaky hands failed, and his plan to go unnoticed was unsuccessful; the glass slipped from his fingers and broke into pieces on the floor.

Ceryse widened her eyes and she immediately went to help him, which only made things worse for him. In a desperate attempt to keep her away, he kneeled on the floor and started to pick the glasses with his bare hands, causing small cuts all over his fingers as he did. Low curses and soft moans left his lips as the pinching pain appeared, and Ceryse —as lovely as always— tried to stop him by grabbing his hands and forcing him to stand up.

“You fool,” she mumbled, looking at the bleeding cuts on his fingertips. “You hurted yourself.”

“It's not a big deal-”

“Let me get the emergency kit, don't do anything,” she went to the manager’s office and came back in about a minute later with a red and white box in her hands. Aegon was breathing heavily. He had never felt so insecure.

With the help of a forceps, she started to remove the tiny pieces of glass from his fingers. Aegon would hold his breath, not being able to control his heartbeat when he had her so close to him; he was able to smell her perfume and see her cleavage. He knew he had to be excited, he knew he had all the reasons to enjoy that moment, but you and your stupid giggle refused to leave his mind.

“There,” she murmured as she finished. “Nice and clean.”

Aegon looked at his fingers and noticed how small drops of blood were forming in the tiny cuts. Ceryse took a small tissue and gently tapped on the wounds, cleaning them. Aegon had his lips slightly parted, stiff as a rock as he was almost scared to move. He cursed again, and she softly smiled at him as she finished.

“There you go,” she said, “clean and healed.”

“Uh… Thanks,” Aegon replied, giving her an awkward smile.

She remained silent for a bit, looking at him up and down through her long, blonde lashes. She was visibly flirting with him, but he seemed to be ignoring her. Ceryse had been waiting long enough for him to make the first move, so she now took advantage of their situation; both of them completely alone in the closed bar, about to finish their night shift. She wasn't going to let this opportunity go.

“Are you done playing that game?” She asked. Aegon frown.

“What?”

“I've noticed the way you look at me, Aegon…” she murmured. His breathing was caught on his throat when she started to slowly unbutton her blouse. “I want to let you know that… I've been wanting the same thing for a long time.”

“What- I- uh… what?”

She giggled, and it was the sexiest sound he had ever heard, yet it wasn't enough to suppress your goddamn laugh. A small ‘fuck’ escaped his lips before he could hold it back, and her hands were pressed on his thighs as she leaned towards him. Aegon hummed, cheeks burning red as he felt so exposed all of the sudden.

“We're alone now,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his jaw. “We can do it right here, right now…”

“I don't know if- If it's a good idea…”

She looked shocked.

“Is Aegon Targaryen rejecting an adventure?” she teased him. “Who are you?”

“There's cameras.”

“I turned them off when I went to the office.”

“What if someone walks in?”

“That would only make things spicier.”

“What if it's Nick,” he said, referring to their manager.

“He won't come until 10am.”

He ran out of excuses. The eagerness was visible in her eyes as she bit her lip.

“I'm done waiting, Aegon…” she murmured.

“Ceryse-”

She silenced him with a kiss, and he widened his eyes. He was unable to concentrate on whatever was happening at that moment. His heart was racing, his breathing suddenly ragged, and his hands still shaking as he tried to hold her waist.

Aegon tried to focus and enjoy this. He closed his eyes and followed the kiss, but things got a bit more complicated when she daringly grabbed one of his hands and put them in her rear. Somehow, he felt uncomfortable, so instead of giving her a squeeze, he moved his hands to her hips.

Fuck, he wanted to run and hide.

When her hands attempted to go under his shirt, he squirmed away from her touch, still managing to keep his lips pressed against hers. She giggled, thinking he was just playing hard to get, but as she repeated the action, the outcome was the same.

“Come on, baby,” she murmured against his lips, starting to feel the awkwardness of the situation.

“Just- wait… Ceryse, wait.”

“Don't be shy now…” she said, biting his lip. Aegon hissed.

“I need you to wait- shit,” he said as he squirmed away from her touch once again.

She leaned back, taking a few steps backwards before she looked at him. Her hands immediately went to her chest, to cover the skin that was exposed thanks to her unbuttoned blouse. Her cheeks lit up like fire as she realized how uncomfortable Aegon was.

“Shit…” she murmured, feeling deeply ashamed. “I thought- I thought you liked me. I'm sorry…”

“I do, I swear, I- Ceryse!”

“I'm so sorry, Aegon.”

“No, Ceryse, wait-”

She turned around and left, picking her bag from the counter and leaving the bar in a hurry. Aegon stood there, frozen in his place, his purple eyes filled with confusion to what had just happened, and once the realization hit him like a truck, he brushed his hands against his face and sighed.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Back in the apartment, you were sitting drinking your morning coffee before going to school. You were staring at the news on the TV before you heard the front door slamming close. You jumped in your place, looking confused until Aegon appeared in your sight; your cheeks immediately getting warm as the image of his nudity came back to your mind. However, the expression on his face made you forget about all the embarrassment, and you worried instantly. You hurried to stand up from the kitchen table and go towards him, he groaned as soon as he noticed you were getting closer.

“Aegon, are you alright?” You asked, but there was no answer.

He walked past you, going to the kitchen and ignoring you completely. Of course that your preoccupation did not let you notice such a gesture.

“Hey, is there something you want to talk about?” You insisted, trying to look over his shoulder. “I know what happened might be a little embarrassing for you, but I just want you to know that I barely saw anything!”

Aegon ignored you again.

“Aegon, come on,” you said. “I can help you with anything-”

“Can you?” He interrupted you as he finally turned around and acknowledged your presence. “Because last time you helped me, you cause me another fucking trauma!”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

He sighed, closing his eyes while he debated inside his mind whether to tell you what had just happened or just keep it to himself. But you were annoyingly insistent, and he just wanted to be alone all day.

He always wanted to be alone when things went wrong.

“You fucked me up even more!” he exclaimed, making you lean back and your lower lip trembled, feeling awful. “I couldn't fuck Ceryse because your stupid laugh was replaying in my mind over and over again,” he confessed. “Like a fucking reminder that my body sucks!”

“Aegon, I didn't-”

“You fucking laughed at me!”

“I didn't laugh at you, Aegon!” you raised your voice, matching his tone. “I was nervous, it was an awkward situation. I saw you naked! Of course I would get nervous!”

Aegon went silent, pressing his lips in a thin line as his eyebrows furrowed. You took a step closer, but he took a step back. You sighed defeated, knowing that all the progress you have made to become his friend had easily vanished in a matter of seconds.

“Look,” you said. “I'm sorry, Aegon. I never meant to make you feel bad.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, as if a simple apology would fix it,” he said, pettily.

You both stayed in silence for a few seconds, your lips pressed in a thin line as you tried to come up with a solution to your problem. It was certain that you did not have too many options, and Aegon was not giving signs of having an idea to fix it either. That is why you panicked, and your hands went to the hem of your shirt and started to lift it up.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he asked, scandalized.

“I'm getting naked so we can call it even,” you explained, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“I don't want to see you naked! What is wrong with you?”

“Well, then what do you want me to do? I can't get inside your brain and take my laugh out of it.”

“I certainly don't want to see you naked!” he said.

“Alright, I'm sorry, okay?!” you quickly said, looking at his eyes. “I'm sorry that I laughed, and I'm sorry it made you feel bad.”

“That doesn't-”

“Shut up,” you interrupted him. “You are not ugly, you're hot. There, I said it! You have a handsome face and a hot body, and even though you're so grumpy sometimes, your face compensates for it. You know why? Because you are handsome, you idiot.”

“I-”

“I wish I could go with that girl and beat her fucking ass for what she did to you. I wish!” His eyes widened, he was slightly flustered. “She didn't know what she had. You're a good catch, Aegon, and if you don't start to believe it for yourself then no one will.”

You left the room in an overly dramatic walk, leaving Aegon behind with his eyes wide open and his cheeks red. His breathing, somehow, was fast and unsteady. His blood was running quickly down his body as he cleared his throat and turned around to worry about his breakfast. Yet, your words had left a feeling in his gut which felt quite nice.

Aemond suddenly walked out of his room and stopped when he saw Aegon standing in the middle of the open kitchen, staring at the unbaked bacon in the pan. He was weirded out by his brother's strange attitude.

“What's wrong with you?” Aemond asked.

Aegon woke up from his trance and shook his head.

“Nothing.”

He didn't sound too convincing.

“We made a pact, Aegon,” he reminded him, going towards the coffee machine and pouring some of it on a cup. “You are not allowed to sleep with her.” he whispered those last words just to make sure you wouldn't hear it.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffed.

“Just a reminder,” Aemond shrugged, sipping his coffee while Aegon finally turned on the stove.

“Shut up.”

It was 6pm when you arrived back in the apartment after a long day at school. You were dragging your feet through the hall and towards your room, noticing that neither Aemond or Jace had arrived yet, and Aegon was probably in his room. It had been a long day, and the only thing that you craved was a nice and warm shower before going to bed. It was a need.

After your discussion with Aegon in the morning and the tiny bug in your chest that was making you feel guilty all day, you needed some time to relax, to stand beneath the warm water and let it wash away all the stress of your body. So that's what you did.

You took off your clothes the moment you stepped into the bathroom, then quickly got in the shower, feeling the warmth wrapping your body. Your shoulders immediately relaxed and you saw all your troubles vanished in that instant, you let yourself sigh.

Your mind went blank and all you could feel was the warmth and comfort the water produced. It was lovely, it made you forget about all the issues and troubles.

When you finished, you stood there for a bit longer, enjoying the last moments of peace before you would cross your path with Aegon's.

What you did not expect was that, at the very moment that you opened the shower curtain, Aegon opened the door.

And he looked at you.

Naked.

You screamed as your hands went to cover yourself as much as you could. Aegon's mouth dropped as he stared longer than he should have, his pale cheeks turning red as he swallowed hard.

“Aegon!” you yelled his name.

Only then he seemed to react, because he immediately muttered a small ‘sorry’ and then he closed the door. You immediately took the towel from the hanger and you covered yourself, breathing fast. You almost slipped in your way out of the shower, silly movements as you were still trying to take in what had happened.

That goddamn door lock.

Then, in the middle of the silence, you heard him speak.

“Well, I guess we’re even now, aren't we?” he joked on the other side of the door.

“Shut up!” you said, between nervous laughs.

He laughed it off too, and that sound made you smile wider as your cheeks got warm.

It was true though; now you can finally call it even.

BOLD MEANS I COULDN’T TAG YOU

INVISIBLE STRING TAG LIST — @aemondssiut @tillyt04 @doublesparrows @afro-hispwriter @chrisevansslutttt2 @fan-goddess @trshngyn @hiatuswhore @heavenly1927 @deltamoon666 @sahvlren @kravitzwhore @watercolorskyy @n4tforlife @lovevellichor @f4ll-for-you @namelesslosers @jvpit3rs @marytargaryen @geminidas @aphroditeisamilf

follow @by-fairysluna for updates.

#invisible string #newgirl!au #modern!aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd fanfic

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months

Text

By this time of year, pretty much every public park is overrun by nesting geese. They honk, they make adorable goslings, they bite, and they poop everywhere. You dickheads abandoned us in the coldest part of our winters, and now you come back and are occupying our precious municipal spaces? I'd had enough.

Thing is, in my country, it's illegal to disturb the birds once they've got a nest up. You can't bother them, and you especially can't make loud noises at them and kick them out of the planters in front of your apartment. They're nesting migratory birds, and "we" (my representatives, not me, I'm banned for life from any Marriott with a conference centre) signed some kind of agreement a long time ago that we wouldn't mess with them.

Not only is it illegal, but it feels kind of bad to be disrupting some new parents grappling with the beautiful miracle of tender, new life. It's not great karma, really, so we deal with the fact that our kids occasionally get bitten by angry geese. Resist the urge to strike back as our primitive forebears would have done. Just bury it down inside, where the repressed anger surely won't be released spectacularly in an unpredictable new kind of violence. Feeling good!

There is a loophole, however. You're not allowed to disturb them, but you can make them a better deal. Remember that secret NASA office in the old strip mall, where the eggheads got caught spying on the Mayor? Yeah, they got out of there in a hurry, and all the G-men who cleaned up the place afterward just chucked all their cool space stuff in the dumpster out back. I'm proud to announce that the first moon colony staffed entirely by Canada geese is now in operation.

Don't worry, they're fine up there. They've got enough water, air, and food to live a thousand generations. And without any wind, the dumps they leave on our closest satellite will last forever. It's that call to immortality that really appeals to these birds, I think, even if the commute back to Florida around fall is going to be a little longer than usual.

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hockeyboistrash · 2 months

Text

two more years | a.s

to celebrate his contract extension, here's another artūrs fic. its a short one sorry about that. im trying to write some longer fics but work is kicking my ass at the moment.

The sun began to set, taking the heat with it. You were curled up to Artūrs's side, a blanket covering the two of you to keep the chill off. It was the summer break and you were spending it with Artūrs. The first stop was Portugal and the two of you were sitting on the rooftop having a little get together with some friends.

This break was much needed after the end of the season the Canucks had, that Artūrs had. From being called up from the AHL to starting in the Stanley Cup playoffs within the span of a month was a lot and now he could finally slow down and take in what he did for the team.

Artūrs was still holding back from fully relaxing though. He didn't want to worry you with his racing thoughts, not wanting to be a burden. He was currently in the middle of contract negotiations. He wanted to stay in Vancouver, he loved the team and he loved you but there was no guarantee he will stay. There was never a guarantee and that small slither of doubt meant he kept his worrying to himself.

Artūrs's phone rang, breaking both of your attention away from the conversation. "Sorry, I've got to take this." He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your head before slipping out from under you. You wrapped the blanket tighter around you, missing the warmth from your boyfriend, as you watched him find somewhere quieter to take the call.

You tried to pay attention to the group but your mind kept wandering to Artūrs. You didn't want to intrude on his call but you wanted to be there for him. These past few weeks, you could tell something was bothering him. There were times where Artūrs was quieter than usual, his smile slightly forced. Those times were usually after someone asked him about his plans next year. You wanted him to stay in Vancouver but no matter what happens you would support him.

You gave it another ten minutes before you went looking for Artūrs. The house was quiet apart from the muffled sounds of laughter from outside. You pressed your ear against the door to your shared room, checking if Artūrs was still on the phone. After not hearing anything, you softly knocked on the door, opening it when you heard 'come in'.

Artūrs was sat on the edge of the bed, his phone abandoned beside him. His expression was unreadable. "Hey, i just came to see if you're alright. You've been gone a while." You said, breaking the silence. "I can leave if you want to be alone for a bit." Artūrs shook his head at that suggestion, inviting you to join him on the bed. You sat next to him, his hand immediately finding yours.

"I'm staying." Artūrs said with a huge smile on his face. "Two years."

"Really?" You asked. Artūrs nodded and a smile matching his crept on your face. You wrapped your arms around him, not being able to contain your excitement. "That's amazing news!" You were so happy for him. Artūrs did so well in the playoffs and now he's got more chances to prove he should be a starter goalie for the team.

You pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at him. It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, his worries melted away. Artūrs looked at you like you hung the stars and moon. He was going to ask you the question he's been dying to ask and now that he has confirmation he's staying in Vancouver, it was his chance.

"Move in with me." Artūrs blurted out before muttering to himself in Latvian. He wanted to ask you in a more romantic way but he was nervous. Paired that with the excitement of the contract extension, he was a mess.

"Artūrs, slow down." You told him, cupping his cheek so he looked back up at you. "I would love to move in with you." You smiled, softly pressing a kiss on his lips. Artūrs couldn't wait to spend the next two years in Vancouver with you by his side. He couldn't imagine anyone else to do it with.

#arturs silvos imagine #arturs silovs #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks #nhl imagine #nhl

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reidslovely · 2 years

Text

Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin (Peter Parker x Reader Smut)

Authors Note: This did not start out as smut. It was a sweet little blurb based on that one Maroon5 song. But it is smut now..it is also very rushed I have papers I need to write for class but this seemed more fun.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Content Warnings: Nipple play, just vanilla morning sex.

Please reblog and comment!

_________________________

Rainy New York mornings where the sun was shining were the best mornings, Peter often left late for patrol those days, or opted to not patrol at all. Instead the scanner on their bedside had a low buzz to it as it scanned through police signals in the surrounding areas, the small persistent noise turning (Y/N) from her rain soaked window to her husband's back. The sun washed his back on a golden glaze that filled her body with warmth as she reached out and touched him. Her hand slid up the smooth muscles, stopping in the middle feeling him breath soft and slow, she closed her eyes from a moment letting herself bathe in the warmth and security of the moment.

He was here with her: safe, and in one piece there was no need to worry about where he was, what he was getting himself into.

He was here, with her, in their bed listening to the rain pouring down the window.

“Good morning, Otzàr Shelì.”

Peter whispers, turning to face her. His hand reached our wiping the sleep from her eyes. (Y/N) laughed under her breath, her reflexes of nuzzling her face into his hand kicking in.

“Morning Bugs.” She mumbled into his hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm. (Y/N)’s eyes searched for his, slightly closed from the sun rushing into the window. His brown eyes are a sweet honey color in the sun she noted.

“It’s raining..and sunny. I hate the Spring.” Peter muttered, pulling his hand away to rub over his face as he stared up at the ceiling, a hand over his face. Like a bunny springing into action (Y/N) straddled him, a playful gleam on her face.

“I love spring! For reasons like this, I love watching it rain while the sun's out. It's such a weird phenomena that we get to enjoy..except when thunderstorms follow.” (Y/N) rambled on, her hands rubbing Peter’s chest slowly as she lingered in the moment. “It also keeps you in bed longer with me in the mornings and who can complain about that?”

As she spoke Peter shifted under her, sitting himself up against the headboard of the bed. His hands tucked her messy hair behind her ear, staring at her with a toothy grin.

“Kiss me.”

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” She replied, pulling her head back.

“Don’t care I haven’t either. Kiss me..please.” Peter said bringing his face closer to hers. Their lips nearly touching, he was waiting for her final word.

“Mhm if you say so.”

(Y/N) met him the rest of the way, closing their lips in a tight kiss. Peter’s hand raked up the side of the Midtown Science Club shirt she had worn to bed. She was certain Peter could feel the heat rush her skin as he touched her. Peters lips trailed off her lips to her neck, his nose dragging along her skin as he placed soft kisses down her neck.

“So pretty in the sunlight.”

“You’re just in love with me.”

(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to the side as Peter lingered. He pulled his head back smiling at her, with a shrug that confirmed her statement. His hands continued their way up her shirt, groping her chest once he reached his final destination. His teeth biting her nipple through the fabric, causing (Y/N) to burst out in laughter.

“You woke up eager this morning.”

“It's spring..it’s the spring fever..”

Peter says as he lifts her shirt over her head.

“I think that only applies to rabbits.”

(Y/N) laughed, helping him pull the shirt off. Before she could process the cold air, Peter bit down on her nipple again. “Ouch! Warning.”

Her laughs bounced off the brick walls of the studio apartment, her hands in his hair as his tongue drags around her nipple, his finger twirling around the other. She spread her legs reaching between them both, placing his cock between her legs grinding slowly. She sucked on the inside of her cheeks holding in a moan, as Peter switched between her breasts. His hands sliding from her hips down to her ass, applying light pressure enough to push his cock against her clit harsher.

“Pete!” She moans out, her hips bucking.

“Let me in Otzàr Shelì..please.”

He whimpered against the skin of her sternum. He lifted her hips as she nodded, falling victim to his eyes she let him take control. She held her hand over his as he slid himself into her, moving his hand off his shaft and onto her stomach. Pushing herself the rest of the way down. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fit herself onto him. Her fingers dug into his chest turning her knuckles and the skin of his pecks white.

“I will never..get over this sight.” He speaks low and slow, his hands starting to grind her hips down getting her started. “Oh come on, you got this. Good girl.”

Soon enough she started on her own. Her hips rolled slowly, as her jaw dropped letting small whines out. Peter lifts her up a little as she goes, thrusting here and there. The both of them were too lost in the moment to find a pattern. (Y/N) dropped her head down to kiss Peter, one hand holding his cheek as the other held her up for support. She pulled away after a few seconds, shaky moans falling from her mouth as she felt herself starting to clench around him.

“Fuck..Fuck yeah.” Peter nodded, nestling himself inside her holding her down in place as he finished inside her, and her soaking his cock. (Y/N) held herself up with her hands on either side of his head, Peter's hands squeezing her hips.

The silence they sat in was sweet, and knowing. After what felt like forever Peter pulled himself out, helping (Y/N) lay across his body. “We need to get up.” She mumbled.

“In a minute, lay here for a minute..come down.” He spoke covering them both up, (Y/N) nodded in his neck feeling his hand rub soothing circles over her back. She turned her head looking out the window, the rain having stopped and the sun shining brighter than ever on Sunday morning.

_______________________

Taglist - let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future pieces!

@helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @bxcketbarnes @andrews-lovr @raajali3 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @a-lumos-in-the-nox @megmehz @lunaleah @eevylynn @ditzydolli @messymissy

#tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter smut #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker x reader smut #tasm Peter Parker fluff #tasm peter #tasm #tasm Peter Parker x reader #tasm peter imagines #andrew garfield peter parker #andrew garfield spiderman x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker

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dearharriet · 6 months

Text

About Time | Chapter 2

james potter x reader time travel au | 2.5K words | contents

page 2 | back next

04:00 — 4 FEBRUARY

Rounding the corner down the back stairs, James came to the kitchen. It was all a deep, thick violet, blending with the world outside. That was a color that the sun wouldn’t touch for another four hours, if that.

He crept into the room, bare toes on cold terracotta tile, and got the electric kettle going. A tiny red dot rose against the dark expanse of cook-ware as the old thing jumped to life. James leaned back, slumping against the counter and retrieving his phone.

The kitchen gained new illumination as he pried it apart, jostling the center button to wake it. He’d done this song and dance every hour of every day since new years—even the ones he did twice—so it was second nature to press the handful of buttons that led to your contact.

The text exchange stared up at him the same way it always did, and he felt his frustration with himself bubble like the kicking kettle.

1 January

Me 14:14

| hello, this is james! (from new years) :)

Y/N! 15:17

| hi! :)

Me 15:20

| hiya. i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? this weekend, maybe?

Y/N! 15:35

| oh, that sounds so lovely, believe me!! but I actually live in london :/ i was only visiting for the holiday.

Of course she lives in London, he thought, she works with Marlene.

James never responded.

The thing about James was, he could go back and retry anything he failed at—which left a lot of room to do just that, and he was accidentally making the most of it.

The other thing about James was, he rarely knew when to quit. A month of no contact couldn’t be good, but a part of him wanted to see if he could make it work the first time. Every retry felt like a crawl through hell, having to do everything all over again, having to remember the way things were—the way things could’ve been forever.

No, he wanted to believe he could make something good without turning back. He’d done alright so far. It was just proving to be very hard because of you.

When the kettle was something around halfway done, James swung the phone closed, plunged back into darkness. He went to the press and took down a big mug with an odd decal over the front of it, and then looked to fish a tea bag out of the next cabinet. His hand felt around blindly, and he stubbornly persisted instead of seeking help from the house lights.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

In quick succession, James swung around and the overhead lights flashed on, and then his head whacked the cabinet door.

“Oh—fuck,” he swore, hand shooting up to cradle the throbbing area. The kettle was nearing the end of its duty, roaring as loud as the blood in James’ ears. Somehow too, the lights carried a sound of their own, one that you’d only ever hear when everything else is blissfully silent.

Something began thumping, and James peeked out of a watery eye to watch a middle aged man hobble over to the fridge. He was wearing a matching pajama set, blue and white striped and too soft looking for his very immediate brashness.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored James’ very feeble inquiry and opened the freezer, coming up with a cold compress. When he turned James’ way, the boy had to school his initial reaction.

Layered over the strange man’s face were deep-cut scars, spider-webbing across his features indiscriminately. His right eye was a shocking blue, and the corresponding eyelid was healed wide open, giving it quite a mad look. James wondered how he slept.

With the same thump thump thump-ing from before, the man approached James, and James looked down to discover a rickety prosthetic leg on one side of his gait. Then, his eyes were back on the scars, his jaw held firmly between thick calloused fingers.

“That’s the last time you’ll ogle at my leg, boy,” the man said firmly, a measured type of coarseness entering his voice. “You’ve seen it now, no need to worry about it any longer. Understand?”

James blinked, still groggy and disoriented, sleep waiting at the edges of his eyes to be wiped away.

“Can I know who you are? Or, why you’re in my house, perhaps?”

A grating laugh escaped the man’s twisted lips, chased by a wide, toothy smile that didn’t match it. Then he forced the compress in his free hand over James’ tender forehead, and a maniacal gleam in his big eye finally caught the light.

“Oh, ow!”

“The name is Moody,” James’ torturer finally revealed, disregarding the pained whines the boy was making. “Alastor Moody. That’s M-O-O—”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” James groaned rudely, feeling a headache come on. Alastor seemed to take kindly by it anyways, or as kindly as he seemed capable of. He snatched one of James’ hands to replace his over the compress and stomped away. James wondered how he’d missed the sound before, when Moody was elsewhere in the house.

Stealing the big mug off the counter and a second one out of the press, Moody set about concocting some tea for the both of them.

“Why are you here,” James pushed again, falling from the wrap-around counter to the butcher’s block island and folding over it.

Moody, pouring a steaming cupful of tea, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Thought I’m s’posed to shut up,” he replied, a small jest barely recognizable in the grit of it. James almost laughed, thinking it was something one of his friends might say.

“Touché,” he allowed, too tired to justify his earlier words.

Moody slid the piping mug under his nose, holding onto the handle to say, “I’m yer father’s student. Or, I used to be, at least.”

James took the tea gratefully, dropping a big sugar cube into it as his body fell into a tall bar stool. He glanced at the scarred man, who was settling in beside him and sighing at the pressure coming off his legs.

“You’re a businessman?”

The sharp gritty chortle returned, far too loud for the early hour.

“Fuck no, I’m not,” Alastor laughed, “I’m a sad playwrite in London. I took his class on a requirement.”

At that, James perked up.

“In London, really?”

Moody slurped his tea noisily, grunted, and then grabbed two sugars and stirred them into his cup with one meaty finger. After confirming the taste again, he replied, “Yes, really. And don’t believe what those townie twits say about it. London is a miserable barrel of oil I’d like to set on fire.”

James would’ve liked to agree with that, actually, except that he was the victim of a one track mind, and his mind had eyes on you.

Coincidentally, you were in London.

“So why not move away?” James hunkered further over the counter, shrugging in question. “What’s there for you?”

Alastor sighed long-sufferingly, the way someone sighs when they’ve fallen into a pit that they dug.

“A goddamn pipe dream, that’s what.”

“Seems the right place for that,” James said agreeably, pushing up his glasses to appear smarter, somehow.

Moody shifted to look at him.

“What about you, eh?” Alastor sat forward, peering at James oblong with his gaping eye. “I suppose you’ll sit around this cushy place until your old man keels over, won’t ya? Marry some other high-society lass, play out the whole family runaround…maybe pop down to the city for a few years, but not for any big plan, really. Certainly not because you need to.”

He shook his head then, grumbling and taking to his tea. James jutted his head back, slightly affronted, but mostly confused by the jarring flip in Alastor’s mood.

“I’m sure I could, if I had nothing else in mind,” James agreed, his mind focused hard on the one future he was sure of. “Thing is though, I’ve got a pipe dream of my own, sir. A girl I met.”

Exhaling through flared hairy nostrils, Moody glanced at James again, dubious.

“A girl, you say?” James nods. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s what takes all the good ones. Some girl they met once.”

“Thrice,” James corrected. Alastor shuffled his thinning hair about on his head, grunting in question. “I met her three times.”

Moody just tipped back the rest of his tea and wiped the straggling drops from his chin.

Twisting his lips, James persisted.

“This girl y’see, she lives in the city. And I’ve asked to take her out, quite obtusely, without knowing, and now I think I’ll just have to move to her because—”

A big fat hand came down on the counter, rattling James out of his rant.

“Get t’yer point boy.”

Swallowing, James finally asked, “Can I live with you?”

Alastor gave him a long look and then stood, dumping his mug into the big basin by the window. On his slow march out, he turned, casting a sneer over his shoulder that prefaced his following answer.

“Unless that girl is willing to give you a million chances, you’ve already lost her. That’s just the way women are.”

04:00 — 17 MARCH

It took four trills for you to realize the song in your dream was a ringtone, and that it was a real pressing matter in the waking world.

One hazy glance at the clock on your night stand told you it was far too early for a phone call, and a quick check on your throat came up dry and unpleasant, not ideal for talking.

You sat up, blinking blearily at the name scrolling across the notification window on your phone, and convinced yourself you were still fast asleep.

‘James :)’ shimmered loud and proud in the pixelated slot of space, perplexing your delirious brain beyond measure. You played with the possibility of going back to sleep, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your phone, you pressed the green answer button and held it to your ear.

“Hello,” you croaked out, more of a question than a greeting.

The other side of the line seemed to lag for a second, like maybe there was no one there, and then James spoke.

“Hel—hi.”

Even though he was only on the phone, hearing his voice made you sit up a little straighter, tamping your bedhead down with a flat palm.

“James?”

He sucked in a breath, and the way it cracked through the line made it sound like a cigarette pull.

“Yeah, um. Yeah. I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect you to answer. You sound so tired, I feel awful.”

“No, don’t be, it’s—” You caught yourself before you could placate him, because no amount of insisting it wasn’t early would change the hands on the clock, “—it’s fine, honestly. My boss is Irish, so I’ve got the day off.”

There was a pause and some shuffling, and then James said, “oh hell, it’s the seventeenth, yeah. I forgot.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “How could you? Everything’s been green for weeks now.”

James laughed, the sound muffled like it was coming from another room.

“I know, I’m sure, I’ve just been too busy to notice. I’m uh, I’m actually moving tomorrow. Or today, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” You bit your lip, smiling a touch and daring to ponder, “Where?”

Another long pause.

“The city,” James replied, and you thought you could hear him smiling, too. “London.”

Picking at your comforter, you felt your lips ebb and flow, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. You really liked James, perhaps even as more than a friend that you’d kissed once on New Years. He was sweet, and attentive, and he seemed to really like you; Texted you right away, unlike most guys you’d been with.

And here he was calling you, striking up a conversation in the early hours of the morning.

“That’s great,” you said, dredging up all of the joy in your chest to saturate your words with. “Where in?”

He seemed hesitant, thinking about it for a second. “Islington, I think? I’ve only ever been up two or three times, so I’m not really sure.”

You nodded, charmed to silence just by the way he spoke, by the number of things you’d rather have asked him—about his life, about that handful of trips to the big city. You were so involved in the thought that you forgot he couldn’t see you.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, I was nodding.” You laughed a little to lighten the tension. “Um, Islington is great.”

“Really?” James asked. “You’ve been?”

“Well, no.” You laughed some more, and James joined you. “But I live in Shoreditch, actually, so we’ll be really close.”

You hoped that didn’t come off too flirty, and then you hoped that it did, which made you feel terribly guilty. If being on the phone with James was dangerous, you certainly couldn’t be around him in person again.

Eyes closing, you cleared your throat.

“Um, James?”

The boy on the other line hummed in response, and then said, “What?”

“Is there a reason you called?”

It felt rude to ask, but you thought the early hour might cover for you. If you wanted to crawl back under your covers and sleep Saint Patty’s Day away, could he really blame you?

“Oh!” said James, and again your heart thumped hard and cruel in your throat, damming any words inside. “Yes, I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if you were free at all next week? For that coffee I mentioned after New Years.”

Fuzz overtakes the line for the next few seconds as your head falls into your lap. In part, you blame yourself, for being so naive as to think he’d call for anything else. The other part falls on you for different reasons, namely, being on the phone at all with someone you had undeniable feelings for.

For not turning him away in the first place, even though you knew his feelings were just as secure.

“Um,” you started, fighting the frog in your throat, “I’m really sorry James, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. I don’t think…”

You stopped there, because anything that came after would veer immediately into a confession that would hurt you both, and then some.

James was eerily quiet, so much so that you checked your phone to ensure he hadn’t hung up. Then, finally, he breathed out an, “Oh.”

It felt more like a punch to the gut.

For some reason, your face burned with acute embarrassment. Something about admitting to James that you were with someone else felt shameful, like some odd betrayal. Thankfully, he didn’t encourage the feeling.

“Well I hope he’s an alright guy,” James said fairly, and you told him he was. After yet another bout of silence, James just said, “good.”

And then the line clicked.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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#about time #james potter #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter au #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders au #maraders era #time travel au #time travel #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter

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ellesthots · 3 months

Text

Fateful Beginnings

II. “research”

parts: previous / next

plot: you make a very… rash decision about who you will interview, and when.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, head injury, substance use, threat of violence

words: 2.2k

You were helped into the police car by two men, one in a typical police uniform and one that looked more like a detective. The uniformed one had shined a flashlight at the back of your head and told you to take a cold shower when you got back. "The head always bleeds more serious than it is," he chomped away on gum and shooed you into the vehicle. They said they'd escort you back no problem, peppering you with some questions along the way. You didn't really have much of an answer for them. You'd never been to the club before, you hadn't seen the gunshots, didn't remember what a single face looked like in the club besides the vigilante's. Which set off a lightbulb for you. Holy shit, Batman. I could do my paper on him. I need an interview.

"Uh I do know the guy that saved me," you prattled. The uniform in the passenger sneered at you. "Uh huh, was it a big asshole in a mask?" The driver didn't share his humor towards the Batman.

"Yeah," you agreed. You didn't quite know how to phrase this next part, so you just put it bluntly. "I was wondering if you knew how to get in contact with him?"

"He sends up a bat signal, hotshot." The uniform was getting worked up, and you could tell you couldn't press the issue much longer. "What you need an outlaw for anyway?" The sarcasm turned to suspicion and you realized that the crimefighters of the town seemed out of harmony. Why didn't they like Batman?

"I've just never seen him before, I'm new here." You hoped they didn't prod you on how new; it might prove embarrassing to admit you'd been here over a year and hardly went out enough to know more than hearsay about Gotham's second claim to fame... behind the reclusive Bruce Wayne.

The rest of the short drive was quiet as the officers talked quietly amongst each other. You turned to look out the window at the pouring rain, mulling over the events of the evening. Shit. Your ears began to ring with anxiety. You went to grab for your phone but couldn't find it. Damn. You needed to contact Mar. What if she didn't make it? What if she's injured? What if she's still lying there, waiting for someone to save her?

You hastily thanked them for their time as the car pulled up to your street. You ran in the lobby and had to explain to the doorman that you'd lost your wallet, keys, and phone at the club that had been shot at this evening. This was common for them, and they knew you, giving you a spare key. You didn't have time to be worried about your belongings, you needed to know if she was safe.

You kicked yourself for not coming to your senses sooner as you opened your apartment door. You flung it open and shut behind you, racing through your kitchen as quickly as your busted scalp would allow without screaming throbs. Rummaging through the sheets you found your school iPad, opening the notifs to find 25 missed calls from her number, the last one only five minutes prior. You gasped a sob of relief and quickly pressed call. It was immediately answered.

"Y/N!!" Mar squealed from the other end, barely containing herself. You were so glad to hear her voice. You talked for the next ten minutes before you told her you had to get off and take a shower. "My head got like, split open. The officers said it was superficial, but the Batman guy—"

Mar gasped on the other end, rattling off run-on sentences of questions. She was shocked that you'd had an encounter, and wanted to know every excruciating detail. "I've heard his voice is super intense, is it?"

"Mar, I'm sorry, my head is burning. I'll text you after the shower, okay?" Reluctantly she wished you good vibes in the shower and to make sure to message her before you went to sleep so she knew you didn't slip. "Again, I'm sorry for forcing you to come with me tonight."

The shower burned your scalp even when it was cold. You felt the sting of every individual water droplet, and tried your best to trust the policeman who said it was okay. After an excruciating shower that felt good everywhere but your scalp, you went to grab your iPad and tried to take photos of the back of your head in your mirror. It was barely effective, only so much so that you could tell it wasn't bleeding anymore. You gently wrapped your hair and head in a towel and laid back against the pillow, going onto Verizon's site and requesting a replacement phone after sending a quick "I'm fine!" text to Mar. You thanked your precious self for getting insurance on your phone so you could get it replaced for free. After selecting 2-day shipping on an iPhone 14, you took an edible and tried to relax.

And relax you did. The small dose that normally chilled you out affected you differently tonight, making your body light with giggles and warmth. Maybe you were so exhausted it was hitting harder. After all, the rush of adrenaline and cortisol that had hit your system tonight were off the charts. You had a brush with death. You tapped along on your iPad aimlessly, until going into your notes app and typing up a few mock questions for the Batman. It would be really cool to get an interview with him. No one has ever spoken to him before outside of the police chief, Gordon. And it seemed like he liked to keep it under wraps, as the rest of the squad didn't much appreciate him. How would I get to see him? You didn't have much more time to think before you passed out, falling into a deep, restful slumber.

You woke up in the late afternoon with drool all over your cheek. Without thinking you tried pulling the towel off your head and then winced at the pain. You'd almost forgotten about the day before.

After getting some food in, you resolved to learning more about this masked madman running around in the night. Did he only come out at night? Where was he spotted most often? You only got a direct answer to one question: yes, he only came out at night. After hours of meticulous google searches and forum scrolling, you learned only a few things:

1. He only came out when it was dark

2. He responded to a bat signal, which was loosely placed in the sky above where criminal activity was present

There were a few stalkers in the forums who dedicated many nights a month to chasing crime in Gotham, hoping to catch a candid shot of Batman at work. A few had succeeded, since there was so much crime here. But it was very hit or miss, and largely depended on chance. If you wanted to find him you would have to spend nights prowling around Gotham, which didn't seem like a great way for a woman in her twenties to stay safe. Then it struck you: a ride-along.

You walked down to the lobby to use their public phone to dial Gotham PD. An annoyed receptionist answered, his voice gruff. "Gotham police department, how can I help you?"

"Hi uh, my name is Y/N and I'm doing a journalism project at GU. Do you do ride-alongs?" You tried to keep your voice clear and strong, like you could handle it. The men in this town seemed to greatly underestimate women, and you didn't want them to deny you based on stereotypes.

"Sorry ma'am, you'll have to ask the chief." He stayed on the line, loudly snacking on something that sounded dry and crisp. You cleared your throat. "Can I be transferred to him?"

You swore to god you could hear him rolling his eyes on the other line. He did a loud chew and swallow before responding in the affirmative. "Stay on the line."

You waited, helplessly counting beeps as another tenant stood behind you waiting for their turn at the phone. The lobby was so quiet you could hear the clock strike each second, mocking you for losing your cell, each one more frustrating than the next. Just as you were about to call it quits and go make up some random topic, a man answered the phone. "Chief Gordon speaking."

"Oh hi," you stammered, twirling the phone line between your fingers. "I'm a student at GU and wondered if I could ride along sometime, I'm doing a journalism project —"

A loud sigh interrupted things. "Let me guess, you want to see him."

The apples of your cheeks turned bright red and prickling warmth traveled up your spine. "I—"

"Listen kid, you gotta stay out of trouble. A school project isn't worth this, I promise." His accent was thick and just further proved to you how much you stuck out in this city. Gordon hung up on you and you tried not to hang around, hastily handing the phone to the woman behind you as you made a beeline for the elevator. He can't just do this. You grew more frustrated with every syllable. The paper was still sitting fully unwritten with only a week and a half left until the end of the term. You needed answers. If they weren't gonna help you, you'd go out yourself.

You went to your iPad and searched for the Gotham police scanner. You remembered a few people from the forums had mentioned using it to help track him, but you had to be online the moment they said the address otherwise you'd never catch it. This is how the few people who caught sight of him had managed to do it — keeping constant nightly tabs on the city, drowning out their lives with the sound of Gotham PD, only going to sleep once the sun began to rise. You sat there for about an hour, restless, thumbing through socials to try to find any leads. There seemed to be a lot going on in town tonight, people posting videos of themselves in the club with every single one full. It was a Saturday night, of course. The people in the city didn't have anything to do on Sundays, it was informally known as 'hangover day'. You could tell who the Dropheads were, their pupils wrecked, slumped over getting an energy drink at the corner store the next morning. It seemed like a normal Saturday until the most peculiar code came up on the scanner.

"Chief, 10-79, 10-80. 10-87 Fischer and Stark." The line started buzzing with inactivity, and you scrambled to write it down. Fischer... Stark... you pulled it up on your map and saw it was a fifteen minute walk north of your apartment. But before heading there, you needed to know what the code meant. Google searches came up with 'bomb threat' and 'explosion', prompting you to swallow your nerves and get ready.

You grabbed your taser, rain boots, and a rain jacket. You rummaged around your junk drawer to find your old Apple watch to have in case of emergency, and you needed 911. It also had a voice recorder in case tonight went how it should. Thankfully it still held a charge, however meager, and you clasped it around your wrist.

The rain was nearly a monsoon tonight, with wind whacking you side to side. Once again, what was common in Gotham was new to you.

You knew how unsafe this was, but you really didn't care. You knew you should care, but you were too stubborn for your own good. A part of you wondered if you got into enough trouble, the Batman might swoop in as he did the night before. The air was chilly, even cutting through the supposedly 'windproof' jacket you bought last year to help you acclimate to the harsh weather. There was no way he wouldn't show up to a bomb threat, right? Especially if there had been an explosion? How important is this paper? It is really worth risking my life all to get to interview a random dude? But this wasn't just some random dude... this was the Batman. While many members of the public had seen him, no one had talked to him. You picked up the pace and started jogging, ignoring the dull throb of the back of your scalp. If you were able to score this interview... it would look so good on a resume. But besides the material things, a part of you was excessively excited at the prospect of getting to see a side of someone no one had seen before. To be let in like that... priceless.

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caitcoreeeee · 7 months

Text

Do you wanna see how far it goes?

A/N: Here’s the finished product! I hope you like it, please forgive any spelling mistakes, I wrote this in my notes app so it’s not perfect but please show us some love!!

@cinnamongirl3sblog collab

CW: SMUT!!! MDNI. Sub!Noah, Dom!F reader, Friends to FWB. Oral sex F receiving/M receiving, P in V intercourse, Praise, Slight degradation, overstimulation, Edging, orgasm denial… Lmk if anymore need to be added!!!

————————————————————————————

You’ve just arrived back home from a night out with friends when you walk into your apartment to see Noah, your roommate, laying on the couch. You walk past him to your room, on the way slightly grazing his tattoo clad shoulder with your fingertips to show him a little affection. Little did you know this small innocent gesture sent fire through Noah’s body. You walk into your room. An immediate sigh of relief as you kick your heels off and feel the soft carpet against your feet. You start to move to undress out of your tight short black bodycon dress when your phone rings. It’s your brother, Nicholas Ruffilo. You answer the phone, having a short and sweet conversation as you put on some loose fitting shorts and a camisol. Nicholas was just reminding you of your tattoo appointment tomorrow, perks of having a tattoo artist of a brother, you got free tattoos. You end the call and decide to go out into the kitchen for some water and a quick snack.

You walk in to see Noah still on the couch. Your eyes meet and you see a glint of something in his eyes. Something unfamiliar to you.

“You want a snack?” You ask in a tired but sweet tone.

“ mm no I’m okay” he says, his voice wavering at the end.

“ ok well I’ll bring a little extra in case you do” you answer back

You fix yourself a bowl of fruit and a glass of water and settle down on the couch next to Noah. He shifts a little uncomfortably but you brush it off. You shimmy into his side to get comfortable on the seemingly small couch. He sinks down a little lower, leaving his head to muzzle into your side. You mindlessly rake your hands through his hair, something you’ve done many times before, something meant to be comforting. You continue this for a few more moments until you hear a soft whimper come from the large man below you. You stop your movements. “ did I hurt you?” You ask a little worried your long nails irritated his scalp. “ n-no, it feels good” he answers in a small voice, sounding a little embarrassed. You continued your movements a while longer until he started slightly squirming. Shifting to move a pillow over his lap, you assumed for comfort. He looked up at you through his lashes, a burning low in your belly spreads through your veins. Igniting a desire you didn’t know you had.

You started to trail your hands down his neck, moving to his collarbone with feather light caresses. Noah fluttered his eyes and let a small moan leave his mouth before he bit his lip in an attempt to silence himself. You move your hands up his neck and lightly grasp his chin to move it towards you, his eyes open, pupils blown wide. You bite your lip as you swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “ Y/N” he breathed out. Slowly you moved your head down, your lips encasing his in a slow but passionate kiss. The kiss deepened as you swiped your tongue over his bottom lip. He opened to let your tongues entwine. You move to lay him down flat, the pillow once on his lap falls to the ground your legs straddling him as you kiss. Your hands pull at his hair and he loudly whimpers. You continue this and more noises fall from his mouth. Slowly you move your hips against his, feeling his hard cock against your thigh. “ please, please touch me more” he whined against your lips. “ I will baby, but you have to be patient, be a good boy” you said sternly. A new side of you coming out. You never once imagined yourself in the dominating position, let alone with Noah, your roommate, your brothers best friend. “ he whined in protest but obeyed.

Kissing him softly, you moved your hips in a slow but deep motion against his writhing body. His hands stayed flat on your back but his fingers twitched, wanting to touch you more. His hips bucked into your soaked core. A sure sign he needed more.

You pulled away, both panting. His eyes, slightly watering from the stimulation. “ Noah, let’s take this to my bedroom, ok baby?” You said in a soft tone. “ yes, yes please” he said desperately. You pulled him by his hand, leading him to your bedroom. Once in the room you tugged at his shirt and pulled it off of him. Yours followed soon after. You trailed your hands down his torso slowly. You traced near his waistband of his grey Nike sweatpants that hung low on his waist, the outline of his hard cock that sported a wet spot. You snuck your fingers under the waistband, finding his bare cock. You grazed his throbbing cock with a featherlight touch. Pulling the most beautiful desperate gasps and whines from him.

He started to slightly buck into your touch. “ please, please” he quietly pleaded. “ what do you want me to do pretty boy” you said with a sultry tone. He grasped your wrist to try to control your movements. You quickly pulled your hand away and used your other to grip his hair with a little force, pulling his head back from your shoulder. “ only good boys get what they want when they’re patient, you don’t want to be a bad boy do you?” You sniped in his ear. He whimpered in response. Attempting to shake his head no, it proved difficult with your hand in his hair. You traced your other hand up his body to grip around his throat, not squeezing, just resting, to remind him who was in control.

“ go sit on the bed, against the headboard, do not touch yourself “ you said firmly. He scrambled to get on the bed. You stood at the edge staring at his red rimmed eyes as you slowly rid yourself of your sleep clothes. You lifted the camisol off, revealing your breasts, you decided to torture him a little and slowly let your hands roam over your chest, every now and then touching your nipples, which now stood at a hard point from the slight chill in the room and your arousal. His eyes were glued to your movements, his chest heaving, he wanted nothing more than to touch you, but didn’t want to be a bad boy.

You brought your fingers down your torso to your waistband of your shorts, you slowly put your fingers underneath and pulled them down, already bare from not wearing any panties underneath. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open, his sweats were growing wetter by the second, his cock was probably painfully hard, you squeeze your thighs together at the thought of his swollen red tip, the way it will feel while he’s filling you.

You climb on the bed, hands and knees, growling towards him. “ Don’t come unless I tell you to” you say while pulling his sweats down with his boxers. His cock spring out, slapping against his stomach. He gasped at the sensation, eyes shut tightly anticipating your next move. His cock was big. It was perfect with a slight curve, just enough to touch that sensitive spot inside you. His tip was practically dripping with precum, red and angry from the lack of stimulation, begging to be touched. “ are you gonna be a good little slut for me?” You said as you grazed your acrylic nails up his shaft, his cock slightly jumped at the dirty name you called him. He eagerly nodded. “ yes, yes I will” he said in between gasps. “ another rule, don’t touch me unless I say so” you say right before swiping your thumb across the tip. He gasps out a moan, not even trying to hide his sounds. He sounds just as pretty as when he sings.

You finally close your hand around his shaft, squeezing slightly as you move up and down slowly, twisting your wrist just at the tip. He bucks into your h, chasing your touch every time. You decide to go one step further. You lean down while looking up at him and close your lips around the tip, swirling your tongue around him to collect his precum. His hands shoot out to grasp your head and push you down but you pop off, removing your hands and smack his thigh. He jumps at the sensation. “ only good boys get what they want, not needy whores” you say feigning anger. Truthfully, you loved seeing him like this, the Noah Sebastian, the seemingly domineering man who needs control in every situation crumbling at your touch, wanting nothing more than to be a good boy for you. “ I’m sorry, please touch me again, I’ll be a good boy” he whimpered and pleaded. You swear you felt yourself drip at his words. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he has never looked more a mess. You loved it.

You placed your hand on his cock once again, the other hand grasped his, deciding he deserves to know how good he’s being. You lean down once again and take has his cock in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you move up and down, squeezing the rest with your other hand. He lets his head fall back and little gasps escaped his open mouth. He squeezed your hand, seeking a little affection, you pulled off of him and stroked with your hand. “ you are being such a good boy, so good for me” you praised, feeling his member pulse at your words. Your hand on his cock moved a little faster, you placed kisses on his hips. He started to buck more and more, getting more restless. His breaths were ragged and uneven, a sure sign he was close. “ please let me cum, I’ll be so good, please I need to cum” he pleaded, his words breathless and needy. Right as he was about to blow, you pulled your hand off. His eyes shot open. “ no no please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum” he pleaded. “ don’t worry baby, you will, but I need to cum first” you said. “ now put that pretty mouth to use.” You said.

He hastily flipped you so you were underneath him. His sudden strength reminding you that he could take control at any given moment. He lapped at your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, moving down your stomach to your hips, the finally the place you needed him most. He kissed just above your clit. He looked up at you as he licked a long stripe all the way up your dripping core before diving in and lapping at your clit like a starved man. He licked in perfect circles with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hand grasped at his hair, harshly holding him there as your hips moved with his face. Grinding on him.

He continued his assault on your throbbing bud, sucking and slightly grazing his teeth. Your body was ablaze, toes curling in the white hot heat of pleasure. Your mouth hung open as you moaned wildly. Your stomach was burning as you felt your release approach. You rode his face and pushed him fitter into you, he groaned at this and the vibrations brought you closer. He knew this and inserted one of his long tattooed fingers into your entrance, immediately curling and pumping rapidly, he prodded at the spongey spot inside you. This brought you over the edge, your hips bucking wildly as your vision went white and your legs shook. He continued until you were basically ripping his hair out, the overstimulation becoming too much. He lifted to his knees, your slick dripping down his chin.

You grasped his neck and forced his lips to yours. They mashed together in a passionate and lust filled kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue, you moaned. You pulled him back. “ are you ready for your reward pretty boy” you faked him huskily, your voice filled with lust. “ please, I need you” he said quietly. “ lay back on the headboard for me baby” you asked and he scrambled to take your place. You straddled him, bringing your hands down his abdomen, raking your nails up and down, causing him to twitch. You finally came to his neglected cock, lining it up with your entrance.

You slowly sank down, squeezing your adjust, stopping every now and then. His hands twitched to touch you. “ you can touch me, you’ve been such a good boy for me” you say as you bottomed out. You both gasp as he grips your hips bruisingly. You slowly rolled your hips, his head thumping against the headboard and mouth agape in a silent moan. You started bouncing up and down, his hips thrusting to meet yours. You leaned down and whispered sweet nothing in his ear. “ such a good boy”, “ making me feel so good”, “ you take what I give so well”. You kissed his neck as your movement got faster, his hips bucking wildly. “ touch me, don’t cum until I do” you demanded. His hand on your hip left and immediately circled your clit with force. You moaned and gasped as you felt that familiar heat in the depths of your body. You squeezed around him. He whimpered, his stomach tightening as he struggle to hold back. Wanting nothing more than to be a good boy. Your good boy. He does his movements up on your bud, in an effort to bring you to your release quicker. Your hips bucked as you felt the imaginary rubber band snap. Stars appeared in your eyes as you cried out. Your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to shake and convulse. “ cum for me baby, cum inside me, fill me up” you pleaded. 2 more thrusts of his hips until he stilled and you felt his cock pulse inside you. Filling you up with hot ropes of cum. His fingers stopped his assault on your bundle of nerves.

You fell to his chest. Both out of breath and exhausted. You pulled off of him and layed bext to him. He lifted himself off the bed and scurried out of the room. He soon returned with a wet cloth to clean you up with. He helped clean you, and bring you to the bathroom.

He was gathering his stuff as you walked back in. “ don’t you wanna stay with me tonight?” You asked him. His head shot to you, eyes wide with confusion. “ come on, come lay with me” you grabbed his hand and laid in your bed. He seemed to have changed the sheets. He hugged your back. “ thank you for doing that” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. You turned around and kissed him sweetly, nothing but love and adoration. “ of course, Noah, I’ve actually wanted to do that for a long time” you admitted, both of your cheeks turning a rosy color at your admission. “ me, me too” he quietly admitted, looking deep into your eyes. “We can talk about this in the morning, you need some rest baby” you said as you turned back around. He nuzzled into your neck and you both drifted off into a deep sleep. You’ll figure this out tomorrow, and especially figure out what to tell your brother.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #joakim jolly karlsson #bad omens smut

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lorenid · 1 year

Text

Sleeping Habits

Genre: fluff, established relationship, domestic, idol chan

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: anxiety/insomnia topic, light suggestive lines

Summary: Two 20 something year olds that can fall in love, but can’t fall asleep

A/N: Happy 5-STAR Comeback Day! It’s my first official comeback and I’m celebrating by streaming while finishing this short one-shot that I’ve been putting off since April. I didn’t proof read this at all, please let me know about any errors. Anyways… I’m back on my self indulgence, bc the world inside my head is better than my real world anyways, might as well make it a good one. Fun fact (that only I care about, but I like to over share): My bias for Chan started as soon as I read that he was born 1 year minus a day apart from me. Enough about my delusions, this is also my first time writing about SKZ so here goes nothing.

You arrive home exhausted after a 12 hour shift at the hospital you work at, tossing your heels at the entrance of the cozy apartment you share with Chan.

“Honey, I’m home.” You say with a singing tone making your way to leave your belongings on the living room sofa so you don’t forget them the next morning. Checking the kitchen to put away some washed plates and glasses.

“Hey, baby. Did you have a good day?” You hear him shuffling around before you see him, wearing his usual black shirt, black basketball shorts and socks. He kisses the crown of your head, engulfing you into a back hug, hands gripping your hips. Quickly turning you around giving you a sweet gentle kiss before you can even open your mouth to say a word.

“Tiring but good, a lot of patients showed great progress today and that keeps me going. How about you, did you finish the track you were working on before I left?” You bend your arms to rub his back until your fingers squeeze his shoulders to release the tension moving along to the nape of his neck.

After almost a year of living together you’re used to his habit of waking up, saying good morning with his groggy voice, sealing his greeting with a kiss and heading straight to the studio. Because he can’t do anything else before revising the work he did the night before listening with a fresh mind to get his genius creativity flowing. You do your morning routine and put down the breakfast beside his work desk, worried that he’ll forget to eat for a while if he’s consumed by the music. Sometimes he’s so excited about a song that he rambles trying to explain all the details of the arrangement, accidentally making you sprint to leave for work to avoid being late. Everyday you’re tempted to stay for a little bit longer just to appreciate his sparkling eyes talking about his new endeavors.

“I did! I’ll share it with the kids tomorrow to get their feedback.” The kids aren’t really kids… well kinda. Since your relationship with Chan started they have teased him that if they could kick him out of they group they would just to have you as their leader. Specially Seungmin claiming that Chan is getting too old, even though you are closer in age to your boyfriend than him. But you wouldn’t dare to try to keep them apart, because they are his family and they have become yours too.

“That’s amazing, I know they’ll love it! I have noticed that you’ve been working really hard these past few weeks. So hopefully you can get some rest.” Now you’re clinging to him putting most of your weight on him and he has no choice but drag you around.

“Yeah I’m glad that is done. Honestly we both tend to overwork so much that when we have time for us we miss working, but when we are back to the routine we are exhausted.” The ultimate contradiction of you both being extreme perfectionists. He leans besides the fridge and you look up to him, his cute droopy eyes make you feel like you’re wrapped in a warm hug.

“I really want us to do better about relaxing for our own sanity. It’s a work in progress.” You lift your hands to caress his dimples and cheeks with your thumb.

“Speaking about that, should I make some tea and call it an early night?” He kindly offers, opening cabinets in search of mugs and the chamomile honey lemon tea packets.

“Yes please! I’ll get out of these clothes and get ready for bed asap.” You’re endeared by his thoughtfulness as he makes a warm tea for him, but sets aside yours adding extra honey and putting it in the fridge because if it isn’t sweet and cold you make faces of disgust just by tasting a drop.

“Do you need any help with that?” He checks you up and down with a cheeky smile, the clinking of the spoon swirling around the tea stopping for a brief second.

“Um that would jeopardize our mission, sir.” You say it with a lower voice, rolling your eyes playfully and watch as he blushes and his ears turn a little bit red.

“Oh… right.” He shakes his head as if he’s brushing away his suggestive thoughts.

After taking a long hot shower, you change into a sweatshirt and comfy shorts sitting in front of the vanity desk and mirror. The hue of the night lights around the room setting the mood of relaxation, Chan spent an entire day setting them up and cutely annoying you changing the colors every second. You hear the door slightly open while you’re brushing your hair to prevent the frizz, it will probably get tangled anyways, but just doing this little things give you comfort.

“What you doing?” He says softly peeking his head through the door, you turn and smile at him extending your arms signaling with your hands to come in.

“Just brushing this crazy hair, did you wash up already?” You sigh exasperated grabbing the tea he prepared.

“Yeah, I did before you came home.” He settles his mug besides yours as he quickly moves to the corner of the bed near you. Motioning to scoot closer to him and hand him the brush.

“You’re the best.” He treats you with the type of care that makes you fall in love over and over again.

“I’m not hurting you, right?” He asks, worry on his tone. Stopping to hear your answer before continuing, drinking the rest of his tea.

“Not at all, you’re really good at this actually.” You reassure him because he loves doing this for you is turning into part of his night time routine. He finishes, running his fingers through your hair and kissing the crown of your head as you sip the last drops.

A few minutes later after going to the bathroom to brush your teeth, you both slip under the blankets. Chan plays Pokemon while listening to his favorite playlist while you attempt to read a chapter of a book, but your mind always wonder to random things instead.

“You know what we need?” Your out of the blue excitement makes him jump a little, holding on to your wrists because you hit his arm playfully asking for attention.

“A rocking chair! Think about it, if its big enough we can both fit and take turns.” You start searching for them on the phone to show him different options.

“Am I completely missing the point or does this sound a bit… naughty?” He stares deep into your eyes cocking his head to the side.

“Get your head out of the guter! Its another technique to fall asleep we could try. When I was little my grandma used to hold me and I was out like a light after swaying for a bit.” You gently slap the side of his head as if that would solve anything and he laughs.

“Well, we can definitely try.” He stands up to turnoff the lights, getting back to the bed you pat the space in front of you to cuddle him. You wrap him in a hug crossing your arms on his back moving your hands to rock him a little as if you were on the rocking chair. He lets out a deep breath aligning his head with yours, welcoming the comfortable silence.

“A la nanita nana, nanita nana, nanita ella, mi niño tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” He raises his eyebrows surprised by your singing, but he doesn’t say anything worried that you’ll stop. It’s a famous Hispanic lullaby that at first was intended as a Christmas song about Jesus, but it passed down from generation to generation to help children fall asleep.

“A la nanita nana, nanita nana, nanita ella, mi Channie tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea.” You gently stroke between his eyes and down his nose with your pinky finger. He gives you a soft smile with his eyes closing like crescent moons when he hears his nickname.

“I’m not fair that I’m drifting away while you sing like an angel. I wish I could rush to the studio and record your voice so I can listen to it on loop when I’m away on tour and imagine that you’re there beside me.” He has confessed before that he struggles to find comfort in strange places like hotel rooms and sometimes the time difference doesn’t help with you whispering throught the phone to at least calm his racing heart.

“It’s a deal if you also record yours.” You have heard him before jokingly singing it to his members before they hang up and you can’t help but be a little bit jealous.

“Oh, do you actually mean right now? You love to put me in the spot, don’t you?” He says in surprise when you reach your phone finding the app and placing the phone in between your pillows next to his head. He’s too busy to notice that you already pressed the red button because he’s shuffling to press his hands to your sides under your sweatshirt.

“Of course I do, I won’t deny it and you lowkey love it.” You brush away the strands of hair that are sticking up and the ones that tickle you when he brushes his nose against yours before positioning your head below his craning his neck to be as close as he can to your phone.

“Close your eyes, go to sleep.” He carefully places a hand covering your eyes, giggling under his breath when he feels your eyelashes fluttering.

“Know my love is all around.” His hands travel around your waist to hold you closer to his chest, you hear his heartbeat and try to breathe profoundly to slow down yours.

“Dream in peace, when you wake.” He sneaks a hand up to pet your hair, spreading his fingers to cover the back of your head, a deep breath escapes your lips.

“You will know I'm still with you.” He notices that your breathing is evening and slowly remove one from under your clothes to stop the audio recorder without startling you as he also feels himself drift.

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vampirenigh · 1 year

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Frustration and tears

Summary: Your ex doesn't leave you alone.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki.

Warnings: some cursed words, insecurities, obsessive ex, harassment, stalker.

Masterlist

Izuku Midoriya

It was a normal day. You were just about to go back to the dorms with Uraraka when you saw your ex who just transfered from another hero school to class 1-B. You wanted to ignore him and continue your walk with your friend but be put a hand on your shoulder when you were next to him.

"Y/n. Are you going to ignore me now? After what was between us? Don't tell me you were so superficial." In that moment you thought you were about to cry. You didn't want to talk to him, to see him and to let him touch you after what he did so you jerked away from him and looked in his eyes. "You forgot you cheated on me with that girl? What do you want now? Leave me alone!" "What an attitude... No wonder she was better than you'll ever be. " That hit you hard. You shouldn't care about what he thinks. You know that he is a bully and won't leave you alone. You should know better than show him that he affected you but you did. And in that moment Izuku showed up.

"What is happening here? Leave her alone! You have nothing to do with her! " Izuku knew about your ex and didn't even care about being friendly in this situation. But your ex just looked at Izuku up and down. "He is your new boyfriend? I thought you had bigger standards. My bad. People like you can't have good people by their side. You are just a-" He didn't get to finish his sentence because Kendo punched him in the head with her big fist and immediately apologized on his behalf.

You and Izuku accepted the apology because it wasn't her fault that he had him as a classmate. So you two went back on your way to the dorms.

In the final your ex was kicked out by the director because that isn't a good character for a hero and he was a disappointment for all the students at UA.

When you heard that he got kicked out you were feeling a bit bad but not so much because you had your boyfriend next to you who didn't let you be alone in the next week just to be sure that you are alright. You got very lucky to have him in your life.

Katsuki Bakugo

You were fine. That was what you told you boyfriend when you first saw him. You were a bit creeped out by him but he couldn't get into your dorm or anything. He couldn't do anything to you. You were sure of it. Because who in the right mind would attack the girlfriend of Katsuki Bakugo? He is a ticking bomb.

But you couldn't be further from the truth. You were sleeping peacefully after a long day at UA when you felt someone shaking you. You were very disoriented but caught a glimpse of his hair that made you awoke instantly and freeze. He couldn't be here. What is he doing here? You were about to ask him but he was faster than you. "I missed you so much. I can't believe you are with that angry dude! Tell me you still love me!" "I don't." "Then if I can't have you no one can!"

Maybe you should've played along till you could tell your teachers. Maybe you wouldn't be in a hospital bed whit your angry boyfriend next to you if you did just that. But you were stupid. "I told you he was dangerous! But you didn't think that! How stupid are you? If I didn't come to you in time you could've died!" You would've said something back if you didn't saw the tears that were running down his face. You felt you heart tear apart. You were such an idiot for thinking you could deal with it yourself. "I'm sorry Kat. I was stupid. I will hear you out more often. But I'm fine now. So don't worry. I'll be back at UA fast enough." You talked for a bit longer till the nurse came and told you to sleep more to regain your energy and that you could talk to your boyfriend later. So you did just that. He took care of you through all your recovery and made you take it easy for a while too.

Your ex was caught by your teachers and send in jail for a long time for attempting murder. Your boyfriend wanted to go punch him but your teachers stopped him telling him that he was already taken care of by the heros.

And from then he made you promise is that you will tell him about things like this and he started to sleep in your dorm to keep you safe.

Shoto Todoroki

You were on the bathroom floor. You didn't want to see anyone right now. You know that you shouldn't care so much about the fact that your ex is texting you. But you can't take it anymore! You blocked him five times on five different numbers. You even changed your number one time but he found it again! You can't take it anymore! You wanted to tell Shoto about this but he just started to get along with his father again and you didn't want to burden him.

You were sure that Shoto will be home in 2 hours but you didn't realize how fast the time went and you woke up whit your boyfriend entering the house and calling for you to see if you are home.

You started to panic and tried to make yourself presentable and like you didn't cry. But Shoto started searching for you in the entire house till he saw the bathroom light and knocked on the door. "Are you in there Y/n? Are you ok?" The sound of his voice made you jump. How fast is he? "I'm f-fine. I will come out soon." You cursed yourself for sounding like that. Now for sure he is suspicious.

Shoto knew that you were crying now but didn't do anything and left you on your own to come to him when you are ready.

When you come out and went to the living room you saw Shoto on the couch just scrolling on his phone. When he heard you he got up and put his hands on his cheeks to look at your eyes that were still a bit swollen. "What happened? Who did this to you Y/n?" "No one... " "Y/n! Don't lie!" You wanted to continue lying but when you saw his eyes you couldn't. "My ex boyfriend is harassing me. He is sending me different texts and I tried to block him but he just gets a different number every time and when I tried to change it he found it again somehow." At this point you started crying again and Shoto hugged you. "Don't worry.. I'm here with you now. "

The next day Shoto went to his father and with his help he found the person and got him in prison. But you had no clue about this and were just surprised and confused why the texts stopped when you didn't block him again. Not yet. But it wasn't a bad surprise so you were very happy so you made Shoto his favorite for tonight.

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

Text

sunflower, chapter fifteen

summary: Spencer “distracts” Y/n…

warnings: hyperfixation, kissing, thigh riding, fingering, dirty talk, praise, blowjob (just a tiny one), penetrative sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 2709

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It had been a few weeks since you and Spencer had officially moved in together. In the meanwhile, he had returned to work, which had scared you a lot, but he reassured you that it would be a while longer before he would return to kicking down doors. It hadn’t removed all of your worries, but it helped a bit.

Sadly, that wasn’t the only thing keeping your mind occupied. The gallery had asked you to come up with 3 new original pieces for the show, so you’d spend most of your waking hours either worrying or working on that.

Although you’d move in with Spencer, you’d still kept your apartment as an art studio. It had been Spencer’s idea, knowing that there wasn’t the required space at his place, the convenience of already having the extra place right next door was too good to pass up. It didn’t really look the same anymore. It was emptier and your work had kinda taken over the space now that you weren’t restricted to a single room as your workspace anymore.

You’d been in here all day, frustrated by yourself, not finding any of your ideas to be good enough. The music was blasting loudly from the stereo, and you were currently just standing there, staring at the process you’d made today, which, in your opinion, wasn’t a lot.

It didn’t really look like anything anymore, that’s how long you’d been staring at it. Kinda like when you repeat a word over and over again, it loses all meaning.

Hearing the volume of the music slowly turn down until it came to a quiet, you turned your head to look.

“Hey, when did you get home?” you greeted, not even trying to hide the weariness that was beaming from you.

“Just now,” he replied, setting down his satchel, moving closer to you and studying the canvases, “it’s coming along great.”

“Urgh, please don’t,” you winced, looking back over it.

Casting his glance back at you, he asked, “have you been in here since I left this morning?”

“Um, yeah…”

“you’ve been in here 10 hours?” his eyebrows shot up, “please tell me you at least took a lunch break?”

“I ate something,” you said defensively, “I didn’t take a break to do it, but I ate something.”

“Okay,” he sighed, now standing in front of you, he plucked the paintbrush out of your hand, “it’s 5 o’clock, you’re done for today.”

Trying to catch it, he held it out of your grasp, “just, one more hour.”

“Y/n, you need a break,” he sat the brush down in the glass of cloudy colourful water that was at your feet, “you need a night off.”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “I would love that, but I don’t think I could relax right now even if I tried.”

Taking your hands, he tugged you closer to the door, “you need a distraction.”

“I need to forget. If it was up to me, I would just like to forget, just for tonight,” you sighed.

“Then let me help you forget,” he pulled you a bit closer to him.

“What do you have in mind? Watch a movie or something?”

Smiling, he looked down at your lips, “we could, but I have another idea.”

“Oh really?” you grinned, starting to get what he was hinting at, “and what would that be, doctor Reid?”

Closing the distance, he kissed you, slowly spinning you around so that your back hit the wall. As soon as you felt the hard surface against your spine, the kiss grew more passionate. Letting your tongue slip past his lips, the two of you just stayed there for a while, making out like horny teenagers.

Running his hands down your body, they came to rest on your hips. You then felt one of his legs nudge your thighs apart, making room for it. His tall stature made it come to meet your covered center.

The contact made you inhale sharply. Glancing down, you watched how his thigh steadily moved against you. Squeezing your hips, he moved them for you. Biting back a moan, you looked up into his eyes with a rapid growing hunger, though it died down ever so slightly as you saw the half-finished paintings over his shoulder.

“Spencer, they’re staring at me,” you whined.

Removing the contact his leg had given you, he grabbed your hand, “then let’s go.”

Kissing your cheek, he picked up his bag and dragged you with him out into the hallway, quickly locking the door behind him. You giggled lightly as he pulled you into the other apartment, all giddy with anticipation.

Throwing your arms around him, the two of you stumbled towards the bedroom, ending up almost falling as the bedframe hit the back of his knees.

Whispering against your lips, he slipped his hands under your shirt, “let me help you forget, just for a moment.”

Sitting down, he pulled you with him, landing your thighs securely on either side of one of his. Gliding his palms down to hold on to your hips, he pushed you down, rocking you over his leg.

Letting out a moan, you weaved your fingers throughout his hair. Arching your back, you blinked your eyes heavily at the wonderful spot he managed to put pressure on. Your pulse was heavy, you could feel it clear as day, and not just in your chest.

One of his hands let go, only to snake around to the front of your pants, working at the button. You reached down to practically rip off your shirt. Once it was over your head, you went back to kissing his sweet lips. Hearing your zipper open up, you felt his long fingers dip down into your panties.

“Just focus on me, baby,” he whispered against your lips as his fingertips found your clit, “don’t think about anything else,” buckling your hips in his grasp, he reached further down, feeling just how turned on you were, he slowly sank a finger inside of you, “just this,” he exhaled, visibly enjoying the small gasp that escaped your lips.

Slowly moving it in and out, he didn’t do the motion many times before your body was screaming for more and he happily obliged. Adding another one, he started trailing his lips down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and the occasional nibble on his determent way down towards your tits.

“How I make you feel,” he sucked down on the soft skin of your left boob, latching on to it, making you roll your hips, “the way I’m touching you,” he nibbled his way over to the other one.

Curling his digits slightly, he started moving them faster, putting special attention to that spot that made all of the hair on your body stand up.

“That’s good, Y/n, just focus on that, you’re such a good girl.”

He’d never said that before. If you didn’t already have goosebumps, you sure did now. Incoherently moaning out his name, you tightened your grip on his hair and let go. Letting your head fall back, you closed your eyes.

Slowing down his motions, he removed his hand from between your legs and swirled his tongue over your nipple. Peaking down at him, he pulled back and breathed against your skin, “fuck, don’t look at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want to do some very dirty things to you.”

Sliding down his body, you landed on the floor, “oh yeah? Like what?” you crept your hands up his thighs and undid his trousers.

Jaw slack, his breathing picked up. There you were, on your knees in front of him, tits out and pants undone. It wasn’t like you hadn’t blown him before, but it wasn’t often that you got the chance, he always wanted to focus on other activities.

Pulling him out, his cock almost sprung free of its restraints. It was almost painfully hard, the tip glistening with precum. Pumping it a few times, you leaned forward, just to lick it.

Inhaling sharply, he tried to answer your question, “I, um, what?”

Blinking up at him, you smile, “see? It’s hard to find the words when someone’s mouth is on you,” taking him a fair bit past your lips.

“I don’t know wha-,” you kept going down till you couldn’t take anymore, but still you kept trying, determent to go down all the way, “holy fuck,” he cursed, getting the wind knocked out of him. Trying your best to swallow it all, you were flush up against your fist that was still holding on to the base of him.

You moaned around him, loving the way you made his brain turn into mush. Bopping up and down, you felt a few tears gather in the corners of your eyes and drool drip down your chin.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he groaned, “you’re way too good at that, you gotta stop,” and reached down to pull you off with a pop. You felt a small string of spit come into contact with your chest.

Holding onto both sides of your face, he bent down to give you a hungry kiss, pulling you up to your feet. His hands let go of your cheeks and slid down to yank your pants off all the way. Pulling back, his eyes were dark, “get on the bed.”

Quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand, you sat down on the mattress in front of him, eagerly waiting for more.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours he slowly, or too slowly in your horny opinion, shredded off his clothes. The pace at which he worked at the buttons was just cruel. “Turn around, Y/n.”

Doing as he asked, you kneeled facing away from him but still looking over your shoulder, not wanting to miss the show.

Now completely naked, he stood right behind you and kissed your shoulder. Grabbing onto your hips, he lifted them up, making you clutch onto the bedsheets for support. Pushing back towards him, he whispered in your ear with a smile, “you ready?”

Running his dick through your folds, teasing you, you almost gasped, the words flowing out of you, “yes, yes, yes!” wiggling in his grasp.

And with one fell swoop, he entered you at once, filling up every inch. With a small whine, you arched your back against him.

“There you go,” he cooed, running his fingers up your back, “look at you taking my cock so well.”

Going slow on the way out, till just the very essence of him was still inside you, he snapped his hips, stuffing you once more, “such a good girl for me.”

Moving his hand down around your waist, he palmed one of your jiggling boobs. Pinching the nipple, you moaned, feeling yourself already dangerously close you another orgasm. The joy of getting to suck him off had given you more pleasure than you realised.

Reaching down, he rubbed your clit, “fuck, that’s it, baby. Cum again. Let me feel you.”

Your legs were shaking, and both them and your arms gave out as he fucked you through your orgasm, sending you crashing down onto the mattress. Ascending down with you, you felt his hot breath against your ear, “fuck, I love you so much.”

Slowing his thrusts down, he never fully stopped. His weight on you after that orgasm felt amazing. Lazily reaching a hand back to touch his side, you mumbled into the pillow, “I love you, I love you…”

Turning your head, you couldn’t quite see him, but fuck you could feel him. Keeping his face close to yours, he fucked you slowly, clawing you back from the high, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hearing by his noises that he was close, you slowly turned around, first bringing your knees up to the side, turning your lower body. Propping himself up on his forearms, he made room for the rest of your body to turn. Finally seeing his face again, you couldn’t help but smile.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp, you brought him down for a small kiss. Both of you were deprived of too much oxygen to keep it going for long. Tugging at the roots of his hair a little harder, you saw his eyes roll back and he let out a low groan. Letting his hips buck free as his orgasm rushed through him, pumping you full of his cum.

Panting, he stilled inside of you, and you couldn’t help but wiggle your hips, trying to help yourself to another orgasm. Overly sensitive, he pulled out with a wince.

Reaching down to finish yourself off, he gently smacked your hand away, replacing it with his own. Sitting back, he admired the mess he had made between your legs, running his fingertips through your folds, pushing every last drop of his hot load back into you as it tried to escape.

“Spencer, please don’t tease, I wanna cum again, please make me come again.”

“Then be a good girl and spread your legs,” he breathed out and as soon as you did, you felt him plunge two of his fingers into you, “that it? You like that?” swiftly picking up his pace, pushing hard onto your sweet spot, creating the most filthy wet noises you’d ever heard.

Adding his other hand to join the party, he used it to toy with your sensitive clit. Eyes locked on your pussy, it was only when you crept up on the end that he glanced up at your ecstasy filled face.

Writhing around, you tried to say his name, anything to let him know how close you were, but it wasn’t very coherent through all of your moans.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know, just relax for me, I’ve got you, you can let go.”

Coming down a third time you felt delirious. As Spencer laid down next to you, also exhausted, you grinned over at him, “thank you for distracting me, Spencer,” turning, as he welcomed you into his arms.

“Anytime.”

Laying a few kisses on his clavicle, you informed in between them, “and just so you know, you saying good girl? You can do that as much as you want in the future.”

He didn’t say anything, he only started laughing. Confused, you looked up at him and asked, “what?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not that, I will definitely remember using it, it’s just, um, I kinda read a book of yours on the metro home today…”

“What book was that?” you asked, not recalling any book you owned that would even be remotely interesting for Spencer to read.

“That book you read some time ago, got all flustered about me knowing about it… Hearts aflame by Cherry Vixen…”

“You did what?” you didn’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“I fell over it in the moving process and thought it might be fun… I mean, it inspired this, so I think it was fun.”

Shaking your head, you chuckled and laid your head down again, “I can’t believe you read that… is that why you called me a good girl?”

“Well, it was mentioned in the novel 78 times, so I thought it increased the probability of your liking it. But I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, just, didn’t want to do anything you weren’t into…”

Looking up at him again, “I don’t think you could do anything wrong, Spencer. If it’s you who’s doing it, I’d most likely be into it,” and then kissed his lips sweetly.

Nuzzling his nose into yours, he whispered against your lips, “good girl.”

Feeling a shiver run down your spine, you shuttered, “okay, maybe don’t use it outside of the bedroom unless you want my mind to melt,” that only made him giggle and pull you further up on top of him, “I am being serious. Do you want me to jump your bones again? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“What, did you think we were done? Oh, Y/n, I promised you a distraction, to make you forget. I won’t stop until you have turned into puddy. We’ve got all night for that.”

next chapter

#sunflower #lea’s writing #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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notmyprey · 4 months

Text

Tw: A LOT of fatal vore mentions!!!! Injury and some gore. But keep in mind, no one dies, just gets badly hurt.

Betrayal part 1

I've never had many people trust me. It's not that I break promises or that I steal, nothing like that. I just rarely get close to people. But then I met you.

It's been months since I first found out you had been living in the walls of my apartment. Exactly how long have you been there? Neither of us knew, since you dont track time too well, and I hadn't known you were even here till recently. But from what I've gathered from your ramblings, it's been at least a year.

It took a while for you to work up the courage to see me. At first, you wouldn't even come out of the home you had made between my walls. But after about a week of us talking through the wooden panels, I finally convinced you to come out.

The first thing I noticed was that you were small, you were so small, in fact, I could easily compare you to the size of the Barbie dolls I used to play with.

After that, we hit it off. We were best friends, I believe. You loved listening to me talk about the outside world, and I listened to you talk about what new movie you watched. Sometimes, we would talk while cooking together, others we would lie in bed, with you atop my chest listening to my heart while I described what it's like to go to the store.

We were close, very close. That's at least what it looked like. But deep down, something else was stirring, a buzz in my brain that had been there since the day I first heard your voice. I didn't actually care about you. That's what I had to convince myself to think.

All I was doing was waiting for the perfect time to act, that's all. I didn't care about you, I refused to think how lonely I would be without you. I didn't actually like you, never.

I didn't wake up at night and lay my hand across your chest just to know if you were still breathing. I didn't glance over at you when I joked, just to see your smile. I never saw you like that. Because the voices told me you were nothing more than food.

If I thought too much deeper, I knew I would never be able to look at you again for the amount of shame I'd feel would be too great. So I didn't think about it. You were food, and I refused to think any deeper.

Although the voices were hungry, I told myself that I must wait for the perfect conditions. You had to be tired, so you wouldn't squirm too much. I had to have gotten a good nights rest, so I could chase you if needed. No one could be coming to my house that day, nor could I have any meetings. I needed to just have gone grocery shopping so that people wouldn't hear or see you withering in my gut. This list continued, being added almost endlessly any time I thought of something else to make it even just a little bit longer. But most importantly, I needed you to trust me. I needed to wait until you trusted me more than anything.

I didn't think that would happen. I never thought all conditions would ever be met, and I think some small part of me created the conditions to never be met. But today, when I got out of bed and turned to face you, that's when I knew each box had been checked.

I tried to turn back, I really did. But the voices had grown louder than ever before, and before I knew it, I was gripping your tiny form in between both of my hands.

You didn't move. You didn't even struggle, only gazing up at me, confusion and worry spreading across your face.

Like that, we stayed for a moment, my hungry eyes not seeming to be understood by you. You smile at me and ask if I'm alright, I didn't respond. I knew if I took even the slightest effort to talk, every emotion I had held back behind the wall of hunger would spill out. So I didn't talk.

Instead, I focused on the now. This is the moment I have waited months for. This is the moment I've envisioned in ever so much detail. How nice you would feel on my tongue, the small kicks that would start to come from my stomach as you fought against your final resting place. But between the hungry voices, gnawing at my brain, telling me to shove you down my awaiting throat, I found myself thinking of the stuff I've avoided for so long. How I would miss you small weight on my chest, how I would miss you talking durring movies, telling me about how this actor played in another movie, or how the sequel contradicts whats said in the original.

Shaking, I held you up closer, my hands moving without me telling them to. I thought of how much I've grown to like you. Your head touched my tongue, sending chills of flavor unlike any other down my spine. I thought about how much you trusted me. You didn't move, limply letting my tongue move around your face. I thought about how much love you had shown me. I swallowed, sending your head and sholders into my throat. I thought about how much I felt I needed you here with me. Another swallow, this one more powerful, sending your whole torso and upper legs into the confines of my throat. You meant so much to me. One more swallow, and all that was left were your feet in my mouth. But you're only food, right? The rest of you was sent into the ever waiting void of my throat with one more slow, thick gulp.

My head started to feel heavy since you took up quite a bit of the space in my throat, space that was often used to breathe. But soon, I felt you slip into my stomach. I brased myself, waiting for the kicks that were soon to come. But I felt nothing. A small flicker of movement in my abdomen made me flinch, but it quickly stopped again.

I wanted to run my hand across you, but something seemed to be stopping me. Guilt, perhaps? I think whatever it was, it was the same thing stopping me from looking down on myself. I felt gross, somewhat sick, almost like I had just eaten something I wasn't supposed to. Perhaps that was the guilt, too?

"Did I taste good?" Your small voice echoed through my head. I could hardly think it was real, but it would have been hard to have guilt hallucinate a voice from someone now so close to me.

I couldn't bring myself to answer, not because the answer was unclear, but because my voice refused to come out. No matter how I tried, the most I could do was whine a pathetic, "ya," in response.

Tears started to flow down my cheeks. Everything felt overwhelming all of a sudden. I flopped onto the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. As I did so, I could feel you curl up too, your tiny form now compressed more now that I was putting more pressure on my middle.

That's when I started crying. Goodness knows why, but now Im sure the emotion I was feeling was horrible, gut-wrenching guilt. Months of effort, love, and care down the drain because I couldn't contain myself.

Your small hand pressed against me from the inside, I think you started talking, but my head was throbbing, drowning out your words. Without warning, you screamed out in pain. Your speaking became more panicked, like something was stealing your ability to breathe. Soon, you had started crying, too.

I could hardly take it, my heart wrenched ever so painfully. How had I ever thought I should do this? How could I ever do this? The illness in my stomach came to its peak, and my eyes started to blur as I hunched over. You started to get forced back up my throat. Soon, I tasted you once again on my tongue, this time though you didn't taste pleasant.

It was a mixture of your original sweetness, but it was nearly drowned out completely by the bitter acid and sour blood that came with it.

Soon, through the tears still draining from my eyes, I saw your body hit the floor in a mixture of other fluids. While still foggy, my mind seemed to work with me, telling my arms to scoop you up and for my legs to tumble towards the bathroom. I set you down in the sink, not even bothering to wipe my blurry eyes as I turn on the cold water. With a couple of blinks, my vision cleared enough to focus. Your left eye was swollen, closed shut with red and yellow liquid flowing around it. Though comparatively, the rest of you didn't look nearly as bad, I knew it still hurt. Any time I glanced at a new area of exposed skin, I found a new red burn, showing the bloody flesh underneath.

You started to shiver, but I couldn't take you out of the water yet. I needed to make sure all of the acid was off of you. Soon though, after I thought that everything was rinsed off, I sped to the closet to grab a towel, then started gently drying you off. While you continued to dry off and wrap the towel around you, I rummaged through my first aid kit to find something to wrap over your eye.

Dropping to one knee to get a better look, I gently placed some tissue over your eye, then wrapped a cloth bandage over it to keep it in place.

I dropped my hands to my side, unable to take my eyes off you. Not even 20 minutes ago, you had been smiling up at me, happy and healthy. Now, I knew I'd never see that side of you again.

#im not even sure how to tag this #fatal vore?#but no one died so-?#idk tag how you think it should be taged

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